


a blessing of sorrows, a crush of tomorrows

by confusedrambler, LadyFeste



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, New Teen Titans
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth as a complex fleshed out human being with flaws and crap, Alfred Pennyworth makes Mistakes, Angst, Be Careful What You Wish For, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Deal with a Devil, Dr Fate has Young Justice characterization but this isn't really a YJ story, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Tim Drake, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jason Todd Has Issues, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-08-19 15:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20212012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedrambler/pseuds/confusedrambler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFeste/pseuds/LadyFeste
Summary: Jason died and the world moved on, but his death left a hole in the family. Alfred will patch that hole like the holes in their jeans. And if he has to use the fabric of time, so be it.In which a deal is made, a death is averted, and nothing goes right in the end.(All titles borrowed from Ben Caplan's 'What Love Can Heartbreak Allow?')





	1. a tangle of traumas, a rash of regrets

He had always known that Master Bruce’s crusade was an end. He hadn’t been sure what it would be the end of-- perhaps Bruce, perhaps himself. Perhaps even the end of the most horrific crimes in Gotham. He had never dreamed that it could be the end of Master Jason.

No, that wasn’t true. He had known the truth, even before. But he’d allowed himself to believe. To think that, as Master Jason was-- had been-- so fond of saying-- that being Robin was Magic. That the world would fall to pieces and he would be sleeping in his grave before any true harm came to the boy.

More the fool, him.

Alfred dried his eyes with his handkerchief and went back to folding the laundry. He worked methodically until the task was done, the motions repetitive and soothing in their own way. 

_ In twelve minutes, _ he thought, _ Master Bruce will arrive. In twenty more, he will descend to the cave and I will consider myself privileged to see him again before morning. _

The butler sighed and went to put away the dishcloths. Grief was always such an ugly thing. Bruce’s grief, in particular. 

While he was in the kitchen, he retrieved the night’s loaf from the oven and stirred the crock on the stove. He sampled the dish and found that Tuesday’s roast had become a passable Irish stew, as he’d hoped. He doubted Master Bruce would be eating before patrol today, but perhaps the smell of freshly baked bread would succeed where Alfred himself had often failed in the last weeks. If not, the stew would freeze nicely.

Alfred checked the time, hesitating before grabbing the phone from its cradle and hitting redial. His call went directly to voicemail as it had every time he’d tried to call in the last month. He left a short message for Master Dick and put the phone back in its place. He took down two bowls and two saucers from the cabinet and moved to wait in the foyer. He’d not quite crossed the room when Master Bruce stormed in, shedding his suit coat and throwing it at the nearest coat rack where it fell in a heap.

“Welcome back, Master Bruce. I take it the board meeting did not go well.”

Bruce grunted and began unbuttoning his shirt as he climbed the stairwell, mouth a thin line. Alfred took his reticence in stride, stooping to pick up the suit coat before it could get wrinkled.

“Dinner will be served shortly, sir.” he called. “We’ll be having--”

Bruce interrupted.

“Not hungry. I’ll eat later.”

Alfred moved to the bottom of the stairs, calling up even as Bruce turned down the hallway to his room.

“You can’t survive off of protein bars forever, Master Bruce!”

“I said  _ later,  _ Alfred!”

Alfred’s mouth twisted and he retreated back to the kitchen, draping the coat over a nearby chair and smoothing the fabric where it had wrinkled. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, willing himself to calm. Grief, he reminded himself, was an ugly thing. 

He put away the other place setting and was just sitting down to dinner when the study door slammed. He stilled for a moment before shaking his head and resuming his meal, delicately buttering the still-warm bread. He ate in silence in the empty house. He rinsed his dishes clean and packed away all but a single serving of dinner. This, he took downstairs to put in the Cave’s refrigerator, swapping out an untouched portion of last night’s curry for the stew. 

Alfred faltered when he passed the computer. He checked the communication channels and sighed when he saw that they were muted. Master Bruce was in Crime Alley, from the look of things. A glutton for punishment and spoiling for a fight. Alfred’s heart twinged and he set the computer to forward any notifications to his pager before returning to his private suite. 

All hesitation was gone as he settled at the antique escritoire, pulling out a worn volume rescued from the library last week. Reading glasses perched on his nose, the old man settled in for a night of research.

“This too shall pass,” he murmured. “I will make sure of it.”

* * *

Bruce leapt from rooftop to rooftop, glaring down into alleyways until he found one filled with a knot of five thugs passing a joint, weapons leaning against the nearby wall. He veered towards them without a second thought, a grim satisfaction blooming in his chest. 

He leapt off the building and dropped into the center of the group, swiping out with his leg and tripping the two directly in front of him before they even know he was there. He popped back up with a twist, nailing a third goon in the jaw. The remaining two got their bearings as the blow landed-- the last man standing darting towards a nail pierced bat while the woman threw a sucker punch at the back of his skull. 

He side-stepped the blow and the one that followed, ignoring the slight twinge in his shoulder as he launched a batarang at the fourth man’s back. He felt a thrill of cruel delight when the projectile sunk between the man’s shoulder blades and the weapon fell from his hands with a cry, scrabbling mindlessly at his back. 

By now, the other three thugs had rejoined the fight, circling and taking turns throwing punches. With the exception of the woman, they were all untrained and sloppy. It wasn’t difficult to block or outright avoid their blows, lashing out with retaliatory strikes when the opportunity struck and soon he had downed all three men once more. 

The woman was a more difficult target. She’d taken the opportunity to slide on a pair of brass knuckles while the men distracted him and she used them well. Though he blocked the majority of her blows, he was sure he’d have a new set of bruises up and down his arms. She kept trying to slide inside his guard and he finally let her, eager to end the fight. They traded body blows with abandon, Bruce peppering her sides with short, precise jabs intended to rob her of her breath and stamina. The fight would have been over in seconds. If the man he’d downed with the batarang hadn’t grabbed his foot and yanked him to the ground.

Bruce tried to roll away and get back to his feet, but the woman took full advantage of the opportunity and kicked him in the jaw hard enough to flip him onto his back. The world spun as she stomped on his diaphragm again and again and he choked on every breath he took, vision darkening at the edges. Just as suddenly as he’d been yanked to the ground, he heard a dull thwack and an aborted yelp and the woman was gone. 

Bruce scrambled back to the alley wall and pushed himself upright, hands scrabbling for a batarang to use as a makeshift knife, eyes darting wildly around the alley as his chest heaved. When he actually processed the scene in the alley, his hands fell back at his side and his mouth worked dumbly.

In the center of the alley was Tim Drake, still holding the baseball bat he’d just cracked across the back of the woman’s skull and eyeing her with distaste. At Bruce’s movements, he spun around, bat at the ready. He relaxed when he saw it was Bruce and waved, face reddening.

“Hey.”

Bruce stared at him.

“It looked like you could use a hand so I--” Tim mimed swinging the bat. His eyes darted down to the woman and back to Bruce. He shifted his feet. “I didn’t hit her that hard, so I think she’s okay. Probably. Um. You might want to tie them all up though. And call the cops.” He glanced back at the woman with a considering frown. “Or maybe an ambulance.”

“What… how did…” Bruce stopped and shook his head, hand pinching at his nose. “Why are you here?” 

Tim looked at Bruce blankly before a look of comprehension dawned on him.

“Oh, that’s right, you hit your head! We talked about this last week, but maybe you forgot.  _ I’m _ your new Robin!”

“You are  _ not  _ Robin.”

“Yes, I am!”

“You are  _ not _ . You’re not even in uniform. And I don’t have a Robin!”

“Yes you do, you just haven’t given me a new uniform yet. Robin II’s uniform is too big, so--”

“ _ Don’t _ talk about him.” Bruce hissed. “Robin is dead. There will  _ never  _ be another Robin.”

Tim crossed his arms and glared up at Bruce.

“Oh yeah? You would have died tonight if I wasn’t here to help! Batman  _ needs  _ a Robin.” Nostrils flaring, Tim jabbed the end of the bat towards Bruce’s chest. “ I’m not going to let you kill yourself because you’re too stubborn to admit you need help. Gotham needs you, and you need me. And maybe you don’t want me, but I’m all you’ve got! And if you don’t let me be your Robin, I’ll-- I’ll tell the media who you are. I have pictures-- lots of them. They’ll believe me.”

Bruce glared back for a long minute. The bat wavered in the air, but Tim’s look of determination never faltered. Bruce sneered and smacked the bat out of his hands.

“Go home. You don’t belong here.”

“But I--”

Bruce seized the boy by his collar and lifted him off the ground, roaring in his face.

“I said, go home!”

Tim’s eyes were wide and startled, a tinge of panic showing in the whites of his eyes. Bruce dropped the boy in a heap and left him there. He stepped over the child and bent to the nearest criminal instead, securing the unconscious thug with deft movements. He heard the boy scramble to his feet and bolt out of the alley. The back of his neck burned and his eyes pricked with something like shame. He didn’t look back.

* * *

Dick swung into his bedroom and shut the window with a click. Bludhaven was quieter tonight than it had been in weeks and he was going to take advantage of the lull to get some much needed shut eye. It had been a long, long month and he was tired down to his bones.

He stripped out of his costume and showered just long enough to sluice the sweat from his body. He didn’t bother to get dressed again, settling for wrapping a towel around his waist and grabbing a box of dry cereal for a post patrol snack. He collapsed on the ratty couch in the center of the room and slapped the flashing light on his answering machine. He shoved a fistful of cereal into his mouth and leaned his head back to stare up at the ceiling as he listened to the messages.

“Good evening, Master Richard. I hope this message finds you well.” A beat of silence. “I called to remind you that you are most welcome to come home for dinner at any time.” Another beat. “It has been… quiet, here. I do hope you are well. Goodbye.”

Dick sighed and threw an arm over his eyes. He did feel bad about avoiding Alfred’s calls, but he just couldn’t stand being in the manor right now and he didn’t know how to tell Alfred. He hadn’t even known Jason all that well, but his ghost seemed to flicker at the edge of his eye and grief was so thick in the air he choked on it every time he tried to speak. He couldn’t stand it. And Bruce had been an even bigger asshole since Jason’s death. They couldn’t even be in the same room for five minutes without getting into a shouting match. But it had been weeks since he talked to Alfred last, and  _ Alfred  _ hadn’t done anything wrong.

Tomorrow he would call. Try to explain things, at least a little, to Alfred. Surely he would understand.

The next message was from Wally, reminding him that they had tickets to a concert this weekend and to call him so they could finish planning. But the last message, the most recent message, caught his attention.

“Dick, call me. It’s important.”

It was Bruce. And he still had his Batman voice on. Against his better judgement, Dick dialed Bruce’s number and pinned the phone between his ear and shoulder. He moved to his bedroom and began untangling his uniform, just in case it was a suit-related emergency.

“Dick.”

“Bruce. What’s going on?” Bruce’s voice had the echoey quality of all calls that were answered in the cave. It probably was suit-related, then. Dick put the phone on speaker and started struggling back into his suit.

“I thought I should warn you.” Dick rolled his eyes. Even over the phone talking to Bruce was like pulling teeth.

“About?”

“Someone knows.”

“Knows about what, Bruce.”

“Everything.”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Bruce.” Dick gritted his teeth and stopped wrestling with his suit. It was a bitch to put on when it was still soaked with sweat. “This is a secure line, you know. Just be straight with me. What’s going on? Do I need to suit up?”

“You don’t know that for sure. Technology improves every day and--”  
“And WayneTech is in front of it all. Answer the question. Do I need to suit up?”

“No.”

“Good. I’m  _ exhausted _ .” Dick peeled the one foot he’d managed to get into the suit out again and fell backwards onto his bed. “So what the hell is going on? You never call unless it’s big.” There was a beat of silence.

“That’s not true.”

“It is and that’s  _ so  _ not the point right now old man. I’m seriously going to fall asleep on you if you don’t get to the point.”

“I’ve recently been approached by someone who knows everything about us. About you and me-- and Jason. They have pictures and they say they’ll go to the media if I don’t give in to their demands.”

Dick bolted upright and grabbed the phone, thumbing it off of speaker and pressing it to his ear.

“Wait, someone’s blackmailing you?  _ Who? _ ”

“His name is Timothy Drake. He--”

“Wait, wait, wait, that kid that called me two weeks ago? You’re getting blackmailed by a  _ twelve year old?” _

“He called you.” Bruce’s tone flattened the question into a statement.

“Yeah, he was going on and on about how Batman needs a Robin and how I should move back to Gotham. I didn’t think he actually  _ knew  _ anything! I told him he was nuts and hung up on him. What the hell does he want?”

There was a woosh of air against the speaker, even that sounding tinny and far-off.

“He wants to be Robin. He came by the manor earlier this week. Said he’d been following Batman and Robin for years and that he knew all about my secret identity. Obviously, I didn’t believe him. But tonight he showed up while I was in the suit. And he gave me an ultimatum-- let him be Robin or he’ll tell the media who we are.”

“Damn. Do you think he’ll do it?”

“I’m not sure. I think I scared him tonight, but I doubt he’ll stay away for long.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Bruce said dryly. “He stole a baseball bat from the thugs I was fighting and jumped into the fight without any protective gear or weapons of his own. He’s.... determined.”

Dick whistled, impressed despite himself. He went quiet for a moment, swinging his leg as he thought.

“I dunno, Bruce. Maybe you should think about training him.”

Bruce sputtered enraged protests, but before he could get a word out Dick pressed forward.

“No, I’m serious. He probably already knows a lot and if you trained him-- ”

“Absolutely not! I thought you, of all people, would--”

“Bruce. For once in your life, would you just  _ listen to me? _ You’re right. I don’t want this kid to be Robin.  _ Especially  _ not after Jay. But he knows everything about us. He’s stealthy enough that we didn’t notice him following us for literal years. He’s brave. And probably some kind of genius since he actually figured out our identities on his own. But he is going to  _ die  _ if he keeps going out alone.” Dick paused, letting his words sink in. For a while there was nothing but the sound of his own breathing. He tightened his grip on the phone and sank back into his bed with a sigh before continuing, subdued. “At least if you trained him you could give him a fighting chance.”

Another minute of silence.

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask. And Bruce?”

The other man grunted.

“Goodnight.”

“...Goodnight.”

* * *

Alfred had just finished transferring the last sigil into his notes when his ears popped and his vision filled with static. He blinked away the offending dots and rubbed at his face, ruefully. Master Bruce had gone to bed hours ago. Perhaps it was time for him to do the same.

“Hey, you don’t expect that to actually  _ work  _ do you?”

Alfred startled violently and spun to find a teenager hovering upside down behind him.

“Good Lord!” Alfred shot to his feet and backed away from the boy, eyes lingering on the blue tinge to his skin and the cat that twined around his ankles on the ceiling, equally unconcerned by gravity. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

The boy pouted and kicked off the ceiling. He drifted into a slow flip, righting himself and coming to a halt just before his feet would have touched the carpet.

“I asked you first. Well? You don’t think that’s actually going to  _ work _ , do you?”

“I-” Alfred stammered. “I’m sure I don’t know  _ what  _ you’re talking about.”

The boy rolled his eyes and held out his arms. The cat, as if waiting for this, leapt from the ceiling and twisted effortlessly to land in the boy’s waiting hands. It glared at Alfred menacingly.

“Those sigils.  _ Duh. _ You’ve drawn them all wrong. Don’t you know anything?”

Alfred paled.

“Who are you?”

The boy drifted past him and began flipping, one-handed, through the pages of notes Alfred had been collecting the past few nights. The cat stared at Alfred, unblinking.

“ _ You _ can call me Klarion.” The boy scanned the pages and laughed. “Oh Teekl, look at this one. I’m almost impressed by how wrong he is!”

Alfred edged towards his night stand and took the crucifix within as quietly as he dared. Klarion didn’t appear to notice, still engrossed in Alfred’s notes. The cat-- Teekl-- still stared.

“Hey, what do you want with all these anyway? Resurrection spells don’t keep you from dying, you know.” Klarion spun to face him, head tilted with a calculating look on his face. “Is that what you’re trying to do? Escape death?”

Alfred clutched the crucifix tighter in his hands.

“Leave this place. I did not invite you here. Leave, demon!”

Klarion blinked, eyes flicking down to Alfred’s hand and back up to his face before bursting into laughter.

“Oh, that is funny! Teekl, look, he thinks his little cross will protect him! He thinks we’re  _ demons _ .” He sneered, lips curling up to reveal sharpened teeth. “I don’t need your permission to be here, Alfred Pennyworth. I don’t need anyone’s permission. I’m Klarion, the Witch-boy, and I can do whatever I want! Whenever I want! And no one can stop me!” With his final declaration, Klarion’s eyes glowed. Papers and books went flying about the room and Alfred staggered further away from him, heart beating a violent tattoo against his throat.

“Why are you here? I haven’t done anything wrong. I am no one. Why are you  _ here? _ ” He croaked.

Klarion’s eyes flashed again and everything dropped to the floor.

“Because I saw someone meddling in things they shouldn’t and I was bored. I’m always so  _ bored  _ and I thought you might be good for a laugh but now you’re getting boring too! If I were you,” he snarled. “If I were you, I’d answer my questions. Because then I might not be bored anymore and you might stay breathing.”

Alfred swallowed thickly, his mouth paper dry.

“They aren’t for me. The spells, they aren’t for me. They’re for my-- for Jason. He’s dead.” Alfred’s eyes welled with tears. He tried to blink them away, but his voice wobbled and here, faced with this creature who might very well decide to kill him-- there didn’t seem a point to hiding it anymore. “He’s dead and he shouldn’t be. And I was going to try-- I had to try and fix it. He shouldn’t be dead. He was just a boy.”

Alfred shuddered and pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes shut tightly. If they’d been open, he would have seen Klarion pause, eyes distant as they darted through the air. As if he was reading something only he could see. 

“Oh, I  _ see _ . You want to bring  _ Jason Todd _ back from the dead.” He rolled the name around his mouth, as if savoring a fine wine. Alfred opened his eyes and watched Klarion warily. Klarion dropped his arms to his side and Teekl dropped to the floor, twining around Alfred’s legs with a purr so deep it could be mistaken for a growl. He drifted closer, glacially slow as words dripped from his mouth like honey. “But haven’t you heard the stories? Resurrection spells never work like you mean them to.” By now the witch-boy was practically on top of Alfred. He grasped Alfred’s shoulder with one hand and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “It wouldn’t be  _ him _ , not really.”

Alfred dashed away his tears and tried to speak, but only a croak found its way past his lips. He cleared his throat and tried again. 

“And what do you know of it?”

Klarion leaned away and drifted back across the room, eyes glinting.

“Oh, I know plenty. Necromancy is where I got my start, after all.”

“Then surely you must know-- there must be a way.”

Klarion shrugged and floated towards Alfred’s bookcase, perusing the books there with idle interest. Teekl peeled away from Alfred’s legs and jumped onto his bed, settling in for a wash.

“I’ve raised my share of corpses, it’s true. But with necromancy that’s all they are. Corpses dancing on a string. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not.” He snapped. “But Superman came back from the dead-- he came back  _ right _ . So why not Jason!”

Alfred waited for a response, but it seemed there was none forthcoming. He threw the crucifix back onto his nightstand with disgust and began picking up the books and papers that littered the room, slamming the stack back onto his secretary.

“If you’re going to stay, you could at least be of some use!” 

Klarion pulled a book from the shelf, flipped through the pages and tossed it over his shoulder with a hum.

“You’re bossy. But I don’t have anything better to do, so I guess I’ll answer your questions as long as they aren’t  _ stupid _ .”

Alfred nodded resolutely, pulling pen and paper from a drawer. 

“If necromancy is out of the question, then what about dealing with demons? I’ve read accounts of them bringing back the dead in exchange for a soul.”

Klarion groaned in disgust.

“Ugh, I’ll never understand why you mortals bother making deals with demons.”

“But it can be done?”

Klarion opened another book and began tearing out pages, crumpling and layering them into a ball that hovered at his side.

“Of course it can. Making a deal with a demon is the easiest, most  _ boring  _ thing in the world. Even you could probably do it in a year or two.”

Alfred hesitated in the middle of making a note on his paper.

“A year?”

“Well,” Klarion amended. “You could do it now, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Get one tiny thing wrong and they gobble you up. Demons are notoriously rude and unreliable.” Klarion tipped his head back with a grin, crumpling the last pages of the book into the enormous paper ball hovering at his side. “At least  _ I _ have manners.”

Alfred frowned and tapped his pen against the desk.

“And what about black magic?”

Klarion sniffed and sent the paper ball zooming through the room.

“You  _ really  _ haven’t done much research, have you? There is chaos and there is order. There is the natural and the eldritch.  _ White  _ and  _ black  _ don’t enter into it.”

Alfred wrinkled his nose as Teekl leapt off the bed to chase the paper ball through the room, knocking over a glass vase after a particularly wild jump.

“Then, time travel. I know it can be done. How difficult is it to manage?”

Klarion blinked and flipped onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hand and kicking his feet in the air.

“Well, that depends on what kind of time travel you want, now doesn’t it? It’s a complicated business if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Alfred put down his pen and turned to face the witch-boy squarely.

“I want the kind that changes things. The kind that lasts.”

Klarion scratched his nose, contemplative.

“Well, that depends how far back you want to go and what you want to change. You’ll need at least an awareness of multidimensional space and split-world latitudes. You need a minimum of three other comparable universes, equations to account for spatial dissonance and potential temporal feedback. Of course, you’ll want to pick the wheres and whens carefully, so you don’t run into a previous version of yourself. ”

“I want to go back six months and have a conversation. One conversation. That’s all.”

“If all you want is a talk, mental transference would probably be your best bet. That’s where you just put your mind into the body of a younger you. But it doesn’t last long and six months would be a big stretch.” 

“Would it change things?” Alfred pressed, narrowing his eyes. 

Klarion shrugged. “It usually doesn’t. And if you want to stay there, you’ll have to scrap the whole idea and go back to calculations for multiverse replacements and chronomagical displacement. It would take a lot of work. And more power than you could put together without another decade of research.” 

Alfred frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, no, that’s all far too complicated. I don’t want to go to another world or--or replace anyone or any of that. All I want to do is go back six months, nothing more.” 

The witch-boy paused, and a curious gleam seemed to appear in his eye. “...What, just a straightforward, no-fuss turn-back of the hands of time?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, well that’s easy! Anyone can do that! Even you could do that with a little technical know how and the right magical focus.” 

“Could you do it?” Alfred asked, sharply. “Could you turn back the clock six month’s time and let me do this all again? No worrying about, about running into another me or any of that?”

Klarion laughed.

“Oh, sure! But nobody does, it’s unpredictable and--”

“I don’t care!” Alfred slammed a fist against the desk and stared the witch-boy in the eye. “I don’t care. About what other people do or do not do. Would it work? Would it  _ change  _ things?”

Klarion wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Yes,” he said. “It would change things. It would work.”

“Then that’s what I want. I want you to send me back to the sixth of April of this year. You do that, Klarion, and I’ll give you whatever you want. Do whatever you want.”

Klarion tilted his head and sucked on his bottom lip for a moment. He looked at Teekl and Teekl looked back. A slow smile spread across Klarion’s face, wide and toothy.

“Tell you what,” he crooned. “It’s such a simple spell that I’d feel bad charging you for it. I’ll do it for free. No strings attached. But!” He held up a finger. “This is your only freebie. You need any other favors and it’ll cost you.”

“Just tell me what I have to do.”

Klarion’s smile widened until it curled beneath his ears.

“Nothing. You don’t have to do anything but go to sleep, Alfred Pennyworth. The dawn approaches. When you wake, you will find yourself in the past.”

Alfred nodded tightly.

“Then we are agreed.”


	2. a bundle of burdens and yesterdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred returns to the past to find everything as he left it. Until it isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the distance between postings. We're alternating chapters and for a while this was competing with a shawl I was working on. Now both are done! Confusedrambler has chapter 3, which also may not be as long as this hefty chapter. 
> 
> Also I would like to remind everyone of the angsty tags; despite this chapter this story IS going to go DARK and stay there for a while.

He woke to the sound of his alarm clock buzzing when the stars were just beginning to wink out and the moon was still the second brightest thing in the sky. Alfred hit the clock and climbed out of bed, straightening his pajamas and remaking the bed with the practiced ease of one used to keeping after himself. When the coverlet was smooth, he went to the window and dared himself to look out. He remembered this; the night before Bruce had left for Europe on business. Bruce had returned from patrol, laughing about the chewing-out Commissioner Gordon was going to give the deputy who had forgotten to turn off the bat signal, had laughed again when Jason gave a passable impression of Gordon’s lecture about utility bills. It was the last time Alfred had heard Bruce laugh. 

The first blush of dawn was just beginning to grace the east, though it was always too smoggy in Gotham to be truly beautiful. It would be forty minutes yet before sunrise proper. The bat signal finally clicked off. Alfred tore himself from the window and looked down, wondering at the stiffness in his hands. He’d been clenching the sill. 

He went back to his nightstand and pushed the home button on the mobile—the old one, the one Jason had picked for him after his last one died, the one Dick had insisted upon putting stickers on, the one he’d dropped into a bowl of soaking rice two months ago. The date—April 6th—blinked up at him from the tabletop. Alfred closed his eyes for a long moment and opened them. He checked the date again. It did not change. He unplugged the phone and began to put it in his pocket before he realized he was still only in his pajamas, had not yet put on the dressing gown waiting for him on the arm chair. The phone hit the ground, cushioned by the plush carpet. Alfred’s hand trembled a little as he stooped to pick it up again. 

He checked the date. It did not change. The faded stickers on the back of the case- cartoon birds- felt almost unreal under his fingers. 

On a normal day, Alfred would rise with his alarm, don his dressing gown, and make himself tea. He would take his time, savoring the aroma of leaves steeping in water. The sun would rise over the city and he would watch while he sipped Ceylon from his balcony before going into the manor kitchens to begin a breakfast that may or may not be eaten, depending on how late his charges were out the night before. 

Today Alfred gave no thought to the sun and passed his gown and kettle as he left, checking the date once again on his phone. He didn’t know for sure where he was going until his feet stopped in front of the door to Jason’s room. He checked the date again before he forced himself to look at the closed door. A light nudge pushed it open, and Alfred looked down at his phone once more. He closed his eyes, counted to five, and crossed the threshold. Jason was there. 

He was asleep, limbs akimbo, blanket tangled up in his legs, shirtless and wearing a pair of old Superman pajama pants he’d likely stolen from Dick’s old room. One foot hung off the bed, one arm bent up against the headboard. Graceless, inglorious, like a street cat that had seen one fight too many. There was a line of dried drool on his chin and he was snoring a little. Alfred moved forward at first, then sank onto the edge of the bed when his old knees threatened to collapse. For what felt like an aching eternity he simply watched Jason sleep. Soon that wasn’t enough. He stretched out a hand and worked his fingers through the tangles in Jason’s hair. The boy stirred a little and made a wet snorting sound, but didn’t wake. Alfred bit the inside of his lip and rested a finger briefly on Jason’s cheek. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring, swallowing around the lump of joy knotting itself into his throat, before a shadow made him look up. Bruce was in the hall, attempting to knot his tie and tuck in his shirt at the same time. He passed Jason’s door, then paused and took a few steps backward to look into the bedroom.

Of course he would notice; Jason’s door was almost always closed. Alfred blinked and opened his mouth, trying to find the words to explain himself. As if they were necessary. Bruce stepped silently inside, partially closing the door to prevent light from the hall from disturbing the sleeping boy. He glanced at Jason with a crooked smile. “They’re always hideous when they’re asleep, aren’t they?” he whispered, voice tinged with open affection. “Him and Dick both, much as they like to primp and preen while they’re awake.” 

The joy in Alfred’s throat tightened as an odd noise failed to escape. “Master Bruce, your sons are no more hideous than you.” 

Bruce huffed and crept up to the bedside, also watching Jason sleep. When Alfred made no move to rise, he sat in a chair that was already in a convenient spot for sitting vigil. It was not the usual place for that chair, and Alfred gave Bruce a look that suggested he wasn’t fooling anyone. He recalled a similar chair in Dick’s room that seemed to move of its own volition, usually to a better position to watch the bed. And it took a father to know a father. 

He dropped his gaze from Bruce back to Jason. “...I used to watch you sleep sometimes, you know. When you were younger,” he said, as quietly as he could and still be heard over his boy’s light snores. 

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. “That sounds...ominous.” He shifted his weight awkwardly in the seat. That sort of naked sentimentality was foreign to the both of them, but Alfred could hardly help it. He thought he could hear his pulse beating in his ears as full of relief as he was. 

“And yet, here you are.” 

He shrugged and tossed half his tie over his shoulder. “Guess so.” Jason shifted again, muttering something quiet and unintelligible in his deep sleep, attracting their attention. Bruce’s lips twitched, and he brushed back unruly hair before bending down and kissing the boy’s forehead. The sight pushed another noise from Alfred’s constricted throat, this one getting lost in a sharp sigh. Bruce stood again, watching him with a note of concern in the shadows of his face. “Alfred? Is...everything okay?”

Alfred smiled at him, peace settling into his bones in a way that he hadn’t felt for six months. “I can assure you, Master Bruce, everything is exactly as it should be.”

* * *

In the control room of the Watchtower, Dr. Fate snapped out of meditation, startling Green Lantern into falling out of his chair. “Man, I said you could stay if you didn’t creep me out,” Hal complained, standing and rubbing his lower back. “_ That _was creepy.”

“Something’s changed,” Dr. Fate murmured, eyes still unfocused. 

“Dinah said you were _ nice _ and _ chill _ when you finish meditating, not that you come to like you’re dying—“

“The scales have shifted. Chaos has seized control.”

“I’m going to send you back to your room if…” Hal trailed off after righting his chair, just realizing what Dr. Fate was saying. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

Dr. Fate rose to his feet, ignoring Hal and turning for the door. “I must look into this immediately.”

“Look into what?” Green Lantern shouted, but Dr. Fate never looked back. He sighed and spun around in his chair, wondering who he would find to hang out with him while he was on duty _ now. _

* * *

Bruce wouldn’t have awakened so early on his own if he did not have a plane to catch. “You really don’t have to do this, Al,” he said with a slight smile as Alfred brewed coffee and quickly fried eggs for toast. “I know pre-flight mornings disturb your routine. I was planning to get breakfast at the airport.” 

“Nonsense, Master Bruce. _ Airport _breakfast. Honestly. This will only take a moment, and I shall have plenty of time to myself before Master Jason wakes.” 

He moved freshly toasted homemade bread from oven to plate. The coffee maker beeped to announce it was finished and he left the plate on the stovetop to pour a cup. A splash of real cream and a spoonful of sugar later—only Batman took his coffee black—and Alfred neatly shifted a fried egg onto each slice of toast. He stirred the coffee while sprinkling the eggs with herbs from the garden with his other hand.

The preparation of a proper meal was always a balancing act. The order of the steps could shift without damaging the final product- as long as one knew what they were doing. The multitasking, the advanced preparation, the mindfulness, the mental _ presence _ required often reminded him of chess. He found he preferred the outcome of cooking much more than the empty satisfaction of winning a game. 

He presented plate and mug to Bruce, who smiled warmly at him and picked up a fork. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“Airport breakfast,” Alfred muttered, wiping down the counter. His charge snorted a little, and he hid a smile. He left the eggs out, but put away the loaf and began washing the few dishes he’d used. 

Bruce ate, letting out an appreciative hum when he tried the coffee. “Jason has a science paper due in three days. He should work on that this weekend. Don’t let him forget about it.”

“Of course not, sir.” 

“And if he seems like he’s struggling in math, the tutor’s number is in the notepad in my study. He’s smart. If he just paid more attention in class, I know he wouldn’t feel as stuck with it.”

Alfred nodded along, scrubbing the frying pan with heavily gloved hands to protect from the lingering heat. “I believe he’s finding it hard to pay attention with Julia Ramirez and Matthew Shaw both in class.”

“Yeah, sounds familiar. Wish he’d just come out to _ me _already. He’s more obvious than he thinks he is.”

“Give him time, sir.” 

Bruce nodded with a longsuffering sigh. He took another sip of coffee. “Whatever beans these are, get them again.”

Alfred rinsed the cast iron pan and turned to face Bruce as he began to dry it. “I’ll add it to the grocery list.”

“Thanks. If Dick calls while I’m gone, see if he’ll be willing to come over. He and Jason should get to know each other better. And no coffee for Jason after—“

“Master Bruce,” Alfred cut in, raising an eyebrow and hanging the pan on the rack. “You’re going to be gone ten days, not two months. I believe I can handle Master Jason in that time. I raised you, after all.”

Faint color rose into Bruce’s cheeks, and Alfred smiled just a little. It had been so long since he had seen Bruce’s face anything but pale splotched red with swallowed tears and fury. Pink was a welcome sight. “I know,” he said, playing with the last few yolky bites of toast. “I just don’t like to go on these trips without him.”

“...I know. But needs must.” This wasn't so different yet. He didn’t remember much of the talk with Bruce on the drive to the airport last time. It was swallowed up in the memories of the days to come. But it all sounded familiar. He had intentionally changed Bruce’s breakfast this time, just to prove things weren’t the same, and he had plans for the rest of the day. 

Bruce sighed and finished eating, draining the last of his coffee. “If he wants to patrol without me—“

“He will _ not _ be.”

His ward paused and looked curiously at him. “If he wants to patrol without me, I’ve outlined a route for him in the cave. It only goes through the monied districts, he has to be home by eleven, and he can only go if you’re on monitor.”

Alfred could feel his jaw setting before he realized he was doing it. “Those are admirable guidelines, Master Bruce, but I assure you he will _ not _be making an appearance as Robin without you. Not this week.”

From the edge of his vision he could see Bruce watching him. He had that look in his eye that always preempted him taking something apart to see how it worked when he was younger. The moment broke with a shrug. “Alright. You can have that fight with him if you want. G-d knows I can’t wrangle him. If you lose that argument—“

“Master Dick is going off world tomorrow,” Alfred said, raising his voice just enough to talk over him. “You should call him.”

That shut Bruce up. He stood. “We should get going. As much as I’d like to miss this flight—“

“Master Bruce.” Alfred stood as well, glad he’d gotten dressed before coming down to cook, if Bruce was going to be like this. 

Bruce sighed and dragged his luggage into the front hall without further comment. Alfred didn’t press, just followed him. He knew his ward like he knew the handwritten notes in his cookbooks. They loaded the limo in silence. He hoped Bruce would talk on the way. He wanted the distraction from leaving Jason, even for just the thirty minute drive to and from the airport. 

Luckily, they’d only been driving a few minutes when Bruce leaned toward the front seat. “So what do you want from Europe, anyway? I don’t mind making a special trip somewhere that isn’t France, Germany, or Turkey.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up a little. “I don’t know. I hadn’t given it much thought.” 

“There must be something. Proper English tea? Swiss chocolate? New silver or china?”

“I really don’t need anything, sir,” Alfred insisted. “What did Jason ask for?”

Bruce snorted. “Booze.”

Alfred scoffed, but was unable to hide his amusement. He ducked his face out of view of the rear view mirror to conceal the tears welling in his eyes. “That _ boy.” _

“He’s not getting it, obviously. I think I’m going to stop over and get him one of those replica Greek fire grenades. Maybe an ancient Roman style sling, too. It might help get him interested in more long distance weapons. I’ve been thinking about training him with a sling in the next few months.” Bruce tilted his head, considering. “Or maybe a bolas. A sling may be more dangerous than is wise.” 

“Indeed, sir.”

Bruce hesitated before barreling on.

“He’s still up in arms about finding his birth mother. I think he’s found more than he lets on. If—“

“I’m intending to have a talk with him about that today.”

“Good. Thank you, Alfred. I don’t know what to say to him that wouldn’t drive him away.” A small, stiff silence followed that. “...that’s the problem with Dick. I want—I want to talk to him. So badly. I miss him, and I worry. But every time I try to call, it ends in shouting. And that’s when he deigns to talk to me at all.”

Alfred and Bruce sighed as one, Alfred watching him in the rear view mirror. “He’s going to be off world for some time.”

“I know. And he’ll be in danger. I just—I don’t want the last words I say to him before a mission to be part of a fight. I just want him to be careful, and to know that I love him. Why can’t I just say that without either of us exploding?”

“It is a difficult thing,” Alfred began carefully, turning his attention back to the road. “I don’t think either of you are really listening to each other.”

“I know. I’m _ trying _. I’ve never had to do this before. I wasn’t ready for him to move out like that.”

“I don’t believe anyone was.”

He watched Bruce close his eyes and rest his head against the back of the seat. “...I’ll call him before I get on the plane. It’s still early. Maybe it’ll take me straight to voicemail. That may go better. If he listens to it later.”

Alfred nodded once, even though Bruce’s eyes were still closed. “I’m sure he will eventually, Master Bruce. Try to keep it simple.” He eyed Bruce in the mirror. “You’ve already said what you need to say.”

Bruce opened his eyes and looked to Alfred. “What’s that?” 

“Be careful. Be safe. I love you.” 

His lips twitched up and he blushed again. “I understand.” 

The remainder of the ride was quiet. Alfred dropped him off at the airport with another reminder to call and headed home. The drive home was shorter. Had he broken the speed limit with Bruce in the car, he would have attracted far too much attention to himself. As he drove he went over the recipe for couque au vin in his head. Bruce meditated in the traditional sense; Dick threw himself through the air until he was exhausted; Jason fought punching bags until his head went clear. Alfred reviewed complex recipes step by step, working through each process and reviewing each cook time methodically. He broke his own cardinal rule about devices while driving and checked the date on his phone three more times on the way back to the manor and marched back to Jason’s room upon his return. 

He was still there. He had not so much as stirred. 

Couque au vin turned to homemade sweet roll dough as he made his way to the kitchen. It was time to celebrate.

* * *

The rolls were in the oven and Alfred had tea brewing at last when Jason appeared in the kitchen, messy haired and blinking blearily. Alfred looked up at the sound of the floor creaking and once again couldn’t quite catch his breath. He rose to his feet and put down his book, swallowing. “Ah. Master Jason. Early for a Saturday for you, isn’t it?” It was coming on eight o’clock.

Jason brushed over his eyes with the back of one hand. “I thought I smelled orange rolls.”

Alfred’s hands twitched. He blinked rapidly and swallowed again. “That’s because I’m making orange rolls, my boy.”

He perked up, tilting his head and smiling in cautious excitement. “With pecans?”

“With pecans.”

“But Bruce _ hates _pecans.”

“And Master Bruce is by now over the Atlantic on his way to France. I thought we might take the opportunity to indulge ourselves.” 

The beaming grin that split Jason’s face broke his heart. “What, is it my birthday or something?”

“Do I need an excuse to spoil you?” Alfred winked at him, making him huff a moody teenaged chuckle. Jason shambled closer to better savor the delicate smell of oranges and sugar wafting from the oven. His hand snuck into the bowl Alfred had not yet gotten around to cleaning and felt around for the little lump of yeast dough they both knew should not be left over, but would be. He sighed over the scent, his hand worming its way out of the bowl. “Ashht—Jason!” Alfred scolded, just as he always did, and swatted the boy’s arm lightly with a wooden spoon while he jumped away and popped the raw dough into his mouth.

“Too slow again,” Jason teased, a wicked look in his eye.

Alfred clicked his tongue. “One day you’ll get sick, and then I’ll be able to say I told you so.”

“Not me. I’m invincible.” He darted toward the fridge and opened it, digging around for the milk for tea. Alfred took that moment to blink his tears away, fixing his gaze on the old drawings Jason and Dick had drawn years ago pinned to the fridge. He’d taken them down and put them away himself, after. His eyes drifted up to the philodendron on top of the fridge. Jason had made the pot in an art class nearly three years ago and had been so excited to find something to plant in it. The vine was getting too large for it even now. He’d repotted the plant two months ago and put the sloppily-glazed pot away with everything else.

Finding it suddenly hard to breathe, Alfred crossed over to the oven to check on the rolls, ignoring the cheery suncatchers in the window over the sink. “Not long now,” he said, and cleared his throat again. Jason plopped the gallon of milk on the counter beside the tea things, lifted it after a moment’s hesitation, and sheepishly lowered it again after a sharp look from Alfred. He got a glass from the cabinet. Now that Alfred had made the mistake of looking at him again, he couldn’t look away. He was weedier than Alfred remembered. Going through a growth spurt. This time he would have the chance to see if Jason would “beat Bruce” in height as he’d always threatened. 

He filled the glass with milk and fetched one of Alfred’s tea mugs, adding a hefty splash to the bottom before putting the milk away again. When the kettle began to whistle he filled the cup with water and dropped the tea bag in. He didn’t check the clock or start a timer. He used a bag instead of reaching behind the box for the tin of loose leaf Alfred preferred. Usually he was better at preparing tea than this. Jason liked the ritual of it, liked the fact that Alfred had shared something so personal with him, liked the history and cultural exchange that took place around the act of _ making tea _ in the starchest British sense. He hadn’t ever came right out and said as much, but he’d talked around it. He liked to be _ around _ when Alfred was making tea. Today it couldn’t be more clear that Jason was preoccupied. More than that, that he _ wanted _to talk to someone. Alfred wondered how he could have missed the signs before. 

He needed to address this now, before Jason slipped off. He didn’t know what time he had done it before. Alfred sat down on a barstool at the breakfast bar. Heart in his throat, he took the mug of half-finished tea that Jason offered him and took a deep breath. “How is the search for your mother going?”

Jason sat down, then stood up, then sat down again. He stuck his fingers through the holes of a crocheted pot holder. “It’s...going good.” 

“Any new leads?” 

A smile cut across Jason’s face. “Actually...I found her, Alfred. I definitely found her.” 

He raised his eyebrows and leaned in closer, fighting to keep his expression positive and hide the sudden revulsion he felt. “You did?” 

“Yeah. I did. And she’s a doctor. She went to medical school and got her degree and she’s a _ doctor. _ She does _ charity _work, some kind of Doctors Without Borders thing. She’s been all over the world, and she helps people. Her name’s Sheila Haywood. She’s in Ethiopia right now.” 

“That’s very noble of her. You’re sure she’s the right one?” 

Jason nodded, beaming, one leg jiggling on the stool. “I’m sure. She’s the one.” 

Alfred smiled at him and took the potholder away. The timer set for the orange rolls went off just as he opened the oven to check on them again. Jason turned the timer off, and Alfred took them out, moving the rolls to a cooling rack before going to the fridge to take out the glaze. The pride in Jason’s voice turned his stomach. 

He felt even sicker at Jason’s next words. “Honestly, since Bruce is away and he’s been kind of weird about the whole thing, I’ve been thinking about buying a ticket to—” 

“You’re not going _ anywhere _,” Alfred snapped, dropping the bowl of glaze onto the counter harder than was necessary. It had set enough that it did not splatter, thankfully. He sighed, one hand curling into a fist against the cool granite, and looked up at Jason, who was pale and wide-eyed. Alfred never raised his voice. He sighed and sat back down again, facing Jason, looking him in the eye. He had to be careful. “What I meant to say is that it’s far too dangerous for you to go to Ethiopia alone. Particularly as a minor, with no clear idea of where you’re going or how you’re going to get there.” 

Jason blinked. “But I do know where she is, Alfred.” 

“Good. That’s a start.” He tried to smile, and only just managed it. “That will help us— the two of us— when we go together.” 

“Together?” Jason tilted his head. 

Alfred nodded. “Yes. But not until you run the necessary background checks, and not until Master Bruce returns from his business trip.” 

“You’ll go with me?” He frowned a little, his eyebrows furrowing. “Background checks? What exactly are you implying?” 

“Only that even though Sheila Haywood is your mother, she is still a stranger to us. We have access to the most expansive, most up-to-date databases in the world. If this was a case, you would have already run the bare minimum of background checks before investigating further. This should be no different.” 

“But--” 

“I’m just worried for you,” Alfred said, reaching out and resting his hands on Jason’s shoulders. “You have come into contact with many adults in your young life, and most of them have hurt you in some way. If this woman turns out to be the kind of adult who will bring about more pain for you, then I would rather know ahead of time. I would rather be there for you. Please, Jason, can you promise me you won’t go off on your own?”

Jason blinked and nodded. “...Okay.”

“_ Promise _ me.” 

“I promise. I won’t leave without you.”

Alfred squeezed his shoulders and smiled. “Good. We’ll start the background checks this afternoon.” 

“Okay. Thanks, Alfred.” He blushed a little, dropping his gaze. “For listening. Bruce has been really weird about things lately. Especially this.”

Bruce was afraid of losing him, afraid that Jason would choose to return to blood family, which had always seemed preposterous to Alfred. Jason was with the only family that mattered now. Surely he would see that, even if his mother had proved to be the kind of person who could hold a family together. He turned his attention to his tea cup. “Ten more minutes before the rolls are cool enough to glaze. Do you want anything besides sweets for breakfast?” 

“Bacon.” 

“Of course, Master Jason. How foolish of me.” 

* * *

They didn’t have to search for long before Sheila Haywood’s real records began popping up. Criminal neglect, theft of drugs, and medical malpractice had cost her jobs across America before she moved on to international charities who weren’t as strict about how many patients one could kill through lack of care before steps were taken. When they learned of the current suspicions of embezzlement from charity clinics in Ethiopia, Jason shut down the batcomputer. “I don’t think I want to meet her,” he muttered quietly. 

Alfred nodded, safety and satisfaction settling into his bones. “Very well, Master Jason. If you’re sure.” 

“Yeah. I’m sure.” Jason stood and, after a moment of hesitation, headed over to one of the punching bags in the training ring. Alfred had already told him he was not to patrol on his own this week, which had been a bit of a struggle. He’d also told Jason it was Bruce’s call and not his own, a lie for which he was sure the Lord would forgive him. If He was willing to overlook everything else. Alfred watched him run through his stretches and practice a few stances before rising himself and heading back upstairs for the kitchens. He had a long list of Jason’s favorite dishes and he wanted to get some mise en place done in preparation for the next day. 

It occurred to him after he’d finished the prep for tamales and cottage pie that he should have heard Jason return to the house by now. He checked his phone for the time, and had to check it again when he found himself zeroing in on the date instead. It was late, later than he expected it to be. Fearing Jason had decided to leave for patrol against orders anyway, Alfred hastily rinsed his knives and went into Bruce’s study, wiping his hands on his apron as he walked. His stomach twisted itself into knots on the elevator into the cave and immediately unclenched when he stepped out to find Jason still punching, exactly where he’d left him before. His moves were more mechanical than when he’d begun. 

Alfred took several steps forward. “Master Jason.” Jason didn’t respond. As he drew closer, Alfred could see spots of blood on the boy’s knuckles. His heart clenched. “Master Jason,” he repeated, grabbing one of Jason’s wrists. “I believe that is quite enough.” 

Jason blinked and looked up at Alfred as if waking from a long sleep, the scowl smoothing away from his features. “Alfred. Sorry. I was thinking.” 

“Clearly.” He tsked and examined the knuckles, split and red and raw. “Have you been going at that bag since I left?” 

“It hasn’t been that long.” 

“It’s been three hours, Master Jason. I made shortcrust, bread, and have corn soaking for masa tomorrow. Your hands are in a state.” 

Jason blinked again, his mouth dropping open slightly before shaking his head. “I was thinking.” 

Alfred tsked again. “You were thinking quite deeply, then. Come, let me tend to these.” Keeping a gentle hold on Jason’s wrist, he led the way into the cave’s medical station. As much as he hated to think that Jason had wounded himself, the knuckles were an excellent excuse to touch him--to reassure himself that Jason was alive and well again. He was going to hug that boy before the day was over. None of them were particularly touchy men, but Alfred didn’t care. Jason needed more hugs, especially now that he was alive to have them. 

Jason was quiet while Alfred dabbed antiseptic on his scrapes and wrapped some of the worst ones. “Care to tell me what had you so engrossed?” he asked softly, glancing up at his face. 

He grunted, not meeting Alfred’s gaze. “Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” Alfred prompted. Dick would come to him openly with his problems; Bruce needed issues brought up once, then left alone and eventually he would admit to them on his own. Jason was not like them. Jason would confess his troubles, but only if pushed. 

“Nothing. Just thinking.” 

“What about? Come, Master Jason.” He smiled and gave Jason’s wrist a gentle squeeze. “You can tell me anything.” 

Jason sighed. “Thinking about my mom, I guess.” 

Of course. This Jason had not had six months to know of Sheila Haywood’s many transgressions, six months to develop a burning hatred for the woman for causing a death that Alfred was determined would not happen this time. The situation was not done and dusted and brushed aside in time for tea. Not for him. “What about her?” 

“I...I was...she’s a criminal.” Alfred pressed Jason’s hand flat as he subconsciously tried to form a fist. “She’s a _ thief, _ and a liar, and she’s stealing from _ charity. _ She’s _ killed _ people. I thought she was a doctor, I thought she helped people. I was _ proud _of her! I thought she was something I could be proud of.”

“Master Jason. Breathe.” 

Jason drew a deep breath on reflex, slowing down the words he’d began rushing to get through, his voice growing louder and hotter. He let it out. “I just--Willis was an asshole, and he hurt people. He hurt me. And mom--Catherine--she tried and I loved her so much, but she wasn’t much good either. I thought, when I found her--mom, Sheila--I thought. I thought that maybe--” 

His voice cracked and he took a breath again. Alfred waited, holding onto Jason’s hand but not dabbing at his knuckles anymore. Just holding. “I thought. She’s a _ doctor. _She’s my birth mom and she’s a doctor and she works for charity. Maybe she’s something I can be proud of. The one thing I can see and say that I’m proud to have come from her.” His voice grew very small and quivered with his efforts to hold back tears. “But she’s just Crime Alley trash like all the rest of me.” 

“Oh, Jason,” Alfred said with a sigh, and the lack of the _ master _was enough to startle Jason into looking up. “You aren’t like that. You have every right to be proud of who you are and where you came from.” 

“But--”

“No, listen to me. Your poor stepmother’s circumstances forced her into what she was. She had little choice in the matter and no way to raise herself up, and what became of her is simply _ sad, _ but it is not your fault and you did not come from it. Your father and mother, on the other hand.” Alfred squeezed Jason’s hand and held the contempt back from his voice. “They may have given you life, but you have nothing else of theirs. You are not of them.” 

“I’ve got their genes,” Jason said with a sniff, likely thinking of the punnett squares that started this whole business. 

“Genes don’t make you who you _ are. _ Your _ choices _ and actions do that. You’re right; your mother was a doctor. She had every opportunity to do good and she chose carelessness and theft; your father chose drink and abuse. You are not like them because you don’t share their choices. You chose to help others, Master Jason. You chose _ Robin. _” 

He lifted one hand to the side of Jason’s face and brushed away a few stray tears. “I know it’s hard, this news you’ve received, and I’m sorry. I wish it could be easier for you. But I believe you should be proud of yourself, for who you are and who you have become. I’m so, _ so _ proud of you, my boy. I love you, and Master Bruce loves you and thinks the world of you. And I hope you hold our esteem higher than that of Willis Todd or Sheila Haywood.” Jason gave a watery chuckle and Alfred smiled. “You are a good person because of the choices you’ve made over the years, and you are going to be all the better in the years to come, because I _ know _ you, and I know it doesn’t matter who gave birth to you or what their crimes are, because they are not _ yours. _There is so much good in you, Jason Todd-Wayne. That’s all anyone will ever see. Not who Willis Todd and Sheila Haywood may have been.” 

Jason sniffed again, and Alfred found his excuse. He pulled Jason into a crushing hug, resting one hand on the back of his head. Jason hugged back, tucking his face into Alfred’s shoulder. If he felt his suit there dampen, he said nothing of it. 

After a time, Jason started to pull back and Alfred released him, ignoing Jason furiously wiping his eyes. “Are you alright?” 

Jason nodded wordlessly, sniffing. 

“I think you’ve had a trying day. Why don’t you head to bed early?” 

“Y-yeah. I think I will.” Jason wiped his nose on his sleeve. Alfred turned away to allow him to compose himself in peace. He heard the boy following him toward the elevator. 

They rode up one after the other, the fit too tight in the elevator for two. Alfred did not look at Jason as he stepped out. “If you’ll take the time to prepare for bed, Master Jason, I’ll make you some hot cocoa.” 

He felt rather than saw Jason nod and head toward his room. Alfred returned to the kitchen. Cocoa, _ proper _cocoa, took a little time to make, but Alfred was certain Jason would appreciate the time to cry without prying eyes. He did recall a few things about raising boys, after all. 

And this boy, if he recalled, preferred vanilla ice cream in his cocoa instead of marshmallows. 

* * *

The week passed by in a blur. Alfred took every opportunity to dote on Jason, who accepted it with varying degrees of graciousness. He was in a better mood after Alfred’s talk, thankfully, although he seemed oddly tired. His sleep was off, Alfred heard him stirring at strange hours of the night, having been unable to keep himself from checking on him several times a night. Bruce called once or twice a day, to check in with Jason and complain about jet lag. It was strange, those calls seemed to coincide with Jason’s more alert periods. 

It was almost easy to forget why Jason was here. Almost easy to forget the grief that nearly crushed the manor underfoot. 

The day before the day that would have been his last, Jason and Alfred played Scrabble and ate homemade peanut butter cookies and drank hot cocoa while a documentary about the Incan civilization played on low volume in the background. They were neck and neck for points until Alfred managed to use a z in a double point square on the last turn. Jason pretended to be devastated, but couldn’t maintain it for more than a minute. Alfred laughed and threw a throw pillow at him, ordering him to take a nap. He looked tired. He had slept poorly last night. Jason insisted he was wide awake, but fell asleep on the sofa while Alfred cleaned up. 

Alfred smiled and ran his fingers through Jason’s hair as he walked by with the remainder of the cookies. He returned them to the jar and took the cocoa mugs into the kitchen. He whistled as he washed them and the dishes left over from cookie baking. He would wake Jason for an early dinner, if he hadn’t stirred by then, and perhaps take him out for the evening. They could see a movie and stop for ice cream. 

Tomorrow, he would keep Jason home from school. He wasn’t going to let Jason out of his sight for a moment. 

It was a good plan, provided he could find a reason to keep Jason home without anyone asking questions. He spent the whole movie trying to come up with something, and settled on, for a start, sneaking into Jason’s room after he’d fallen asleep and turning off the alarm on his phone. Jason was a teenaged boy with a vigilante habit, after all, and if the alarm didn’t wake him for school in the morning, he’d easily sleep til noon. 

That turned out to be harder to do than expected. Jason still slept fitfully and woke often, but Alfred still managed it. Satisfied that he could make up something about Jason needing the rest tomorrow, he retired to his own room and quickly fell asleep.

He woke with his alarm and had tea on his balcony at dawn. It was drizzling, but peaceful, with fewer clouds than usual. Alfred even fancied he could make out a star through the smog. When the sun was bright enough to be in his eyes, he tidied up and went back inside to bake—Perhaps strawberry and cream cheese danishes today.

He was whipping cheese and powdered sugar when a scream broke the silence of the morning, agonized and haunting. Alfred’s heart dropped into his stomach and he bolted through the kitchen and living room on the way to the stairs, grabbing a poker from the fireplace as he went. Had he been fifteen years younger he would have taken the stairs two at a time, and he cursed his joints as they flared up in his haste. The screaming went on. 

He burst into Jason’s room expecting to find—he didn’t know what, the Joker, an intruder, the witch boy, anything but what was there. Which was nothing but Jason, screaming himself hoarse in his sleep as he thrashed, his eyes wide open and rolled back in his skull. Alfred dropped the poker on the foot of the bed and grabbed Jason’s arms, holding him in place. “Jason! Master Jason, wake up!”

Jason screamed on, his back arching before trying to curl up around his ribs. Alfred shook him. “Jason, wake up!” 

For a moment, he was afraid he was going to have to slap the boy. The screaming cut off abruptly and his eyes closed before snapping open. He was shaking—no, he was _ trembling _, like a newborn deer. “Al—Alfred,” he croaked. 

Alfred gripped his arms and yanked him into a hug. “Are you alright? What happened?” When he pulled back he could see the boy was pale and clammy with sweat. 

Jason swallowed and opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I—it was a nightmare.” 

He’d guessed that, but Jason had _ never _ had nightmares like this before. “What about?” 

Jason opened his mouth again and suddenly looked so lost and confused it broke Alfred’s heart. “...I don’t remember,” he whispered. 

“You can’t recall anything?” Alfred checked his forehead, but he didn’t seem to have a fever. 

He shook his head and glanced down. He went even paler when he saw the fire poker at the end of his blankets, recoiling away from it and Alfred, pressing himself against the headboard before either even registered he was moving. Alfred’s heart sank again, and he held up his hands and grabbed the poker, throwing it out of the room. “Easy, Master Jason. It’s alright.”

Jason was breathing hard, and Alfred feared he may start hyperventilating. He pulled the boy back into his arms, holding him tight. “You’re alright, my boy, you’re safe. Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise.”

* * *

Bruce burst into the house close to dinner, grabbing an alarmed Alfred as he ran by. Alfred dropped the plate he was holding. It shattered when it hit the hardwood, sending ceramic shards everywhere. “Master Bruce! What are you doing—you’re three days early—“

“Jason,” Bruce breathed, eyes wide. “Where is he? Is he alright?”

A hollow point formed somewhere around Alfred’s midsection. “Of course he is. What on earth—“

“I had a—Joker and his mom and—there was an explosion—I had to see him. He wasn’t at school, where is he?” His hands tightened on Alfred’s arms. “Where is my son, Alfred?”

He looked like a wild man, eyes red, clothes in a state, hair a mess. He must have taken the next flight out. The pit in Alfred’s middle started gnawing away at his intestines. “He’s upstairs in his room. He wasn’t feeling well, so I—“

Bruce didn’t wait to hear anything else, just took off at a sprint up the stairs. Alfred followed, slowly. His bones still ached from the morning’s run. When he arrived at Jason’s room, he peeked inside to see Jason buried in Bruce’s arms while Bruce rocked him and held him and muttered inaudible things into his hair. Ordinarily Jason would be shoving him off, but he’d been...fragile ever since the dream. 

The dream Bruce apparently shared. 

Alfred’s insides twisted into knots. He tore away from Jason’s room and marched back downstairs, into the study. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. “Klarion!” He called sharply, pacing around an armchair. He had to be listening. He had to be close. “Klarion, where are you? I demand you answer me this instant!”

“What’s the matter, Pennyworth?” Alfred turned on his heels to see the witch boy perched on top of a bookcase. That awful cat purred away in his lap. “Where’s the fire? I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

“You said they wouldn’t remember anything,” Alfred said, the knot in his stomach turning into a fire. “You said all would be as it was.”

“And it is. You wanted to go straight back in time. So we did. Your boy’s not dead. Everything is fine.”

“He dreamed it,” Alfred spat. “They both dreamed it. It didn’t happen. They’re not supposed to be affected by it. Somethings wrong and you must fix it.”

Klarion tilted his head, neck creaking toward an angle not possible to reach in humans. “Nothing’s wrong, Pennyworth. This is exactly what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want these nightmares!”

“You wanted to go straight back in time. You didn’t wait for me to explain why no one did it that way. Now you have to deal with the echoes.”

“The what?” Klarion laughed, snapped his fingers, and vanished right before his eyes. “No, don’t—Klarion, you can’t just leave now! Come back! What are _ echoes? _Klarion!”

There was no answer, just inhuman laughter ringing in his ears. 


	3. a nightmare disturbed by the dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while! As you can see, the chapters are getting longer. This fic will not be completed Quickly, but it Will be completed.
> 
> Also, apologies for any weird formatting. Writing/Posting on a tablet is a pain..

* * *

Alfred finished mopping the tile floor and took a moment to admire his work. The kitchen gleamed—counters freshly polished, floor sparkling white, and every dish in its place. The windows were thrown open, the heady smell of ripening vegetables melding with bright citrus as the suncatchers cast vivid streaks of color onto the tile. It seemed to him the very essence of summer, though there were a few more weeks before the calendar would agree.

He put away the cleaning supplies in the closet down the hall and checked his pocket watch. Half-past eleven. It was early yet for lunch, at least in this household, but he was sure a light snack wouldn’t go amiss. He was a little surprised Jason hadn’t already come down to badger him for something to eat. The boy had slept in right up to the tutor’s arrival at 9 and had no opportunity for breakfast.

He’d been upstairs now for over an hour-- plenty of time to finish his maths practice (though Alfred doubted very much he had) or to find trouble. It had, he reflected, been suspiciously quiet. Best to check up on him before preparing snacks.

Alfred made his way to the boy’s bedroom, stopping just outside to listen and ensure he wouldn’t be… interrupting. It hadn’t been a problem yet with Master Jason, but Alfred learned to take the proper precautions while Master Dick was living at home. When he was sure the coast was clear, he knocked and poked his head into the room.

Jason was flopped on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His maths practice was in a neat stack on his desk, untouched, as Alfred had suspected it would be. It appeared that when he’d gone upstairs, he’d collapsed back into bed and simply refused to move. Alfred crossed the room with a shake of his head.

“Up you get, Master Jason. I won’t have you lazing about all summer.”

Jason lifted his head just enough to level a half-hearted glare at him.

“Alfred, I’ve only been outta school for two weeks. I’m  _ relaxing _ . Besides, I already did tutoring this morning.”

“Nonetheless, it’s not good for a body to lie abed all day.” Alfred patted him on the leg. “Sit up. I won’t make you finish your maths straight away, but you can come assist with preparing a snack. You haven’t eaten a thing since you woke up. Aren’t you hungry?”

Jason let his head fall back onto the mattress with a scowl.

“No. I’m  _ tired _ .”

Alfred frowned and stooped to check his temperature. Jason’s skin was cool to the touch and pale, no sign of fever. Alfred hummed to himself, consideringly.

“You don’t appear to be ill. Perhaps you’ll perk up with a cup of tea and some biscuits.”

Jason groaned, but dragged himself upright and followed Alfred down to the kitchen.

“Mind your feet. The floor is wet on the far side of the room; I’ve just finished mopping.”

Jason grunted and slumped onto a stool pulled up to the bar, pillowing his head on his arms. Alfred tutted, but didn’t make him sit up. Instead, he put on the kettle and prepared two balls of tea. An Earl Grey for himself and an herbal blend of peppermint with lemongrass for Jason. He retrieved the biscuit tin and set out a handful of plain shortbread on a saucer near Jason’s elbow; no need to sugar the tea if biscuits were served. 

The kettle whistled. Alfred turned off the stove and poured the hot water over the waiting balls, setting a timer for the tea. He carried the steaming cups to the bar and settled next to Jason. The boy had taken a taking a biscuit to nibble while he waited for the tea to steep, though he didn’t appear to be enjoying it as much as he usually did. Alfred took one for himself and they sat in silence together.

Once upon a time, he mused. No, once not so very long ago-- he would have given anything to sit together like this. For another opportunity to say, oh, so many things. And now it seemed he had all the time in the world with Jason and he couldn’t think of anything at all. The timer went off and Alfred removed the leaves, nudging Jason’s tea closer to the boy. He took the hint and sipped at the steaming liquid. Alfred half expected a complaint about the sharpness of the blend, but there was none. They drank their cups dry and, between the two of them, polished off the last of the shortbread.

Alfred cleaned the cups and returned them to their place. Jason appeared to have no intention to move from where he’d melted onto the bar once more. Alfred frowned.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, Master Jason?”

“‘M fine,” he mumbled. “Thanks for tea, it was great.”

The frown deepened.

“Forgive me for saying so, Master Jason, but you don’t seem to be yourself this morning.”

Jason shrugged and sat up, setting his chin in the palm of his hand, corners of his mouth downturned in what would be a pout on another boy.

“I feel the same as always. Just been tired lately.”

Allfred hummed and leaned back against the counter by the sink.

“Perhaps it’s just the growth spurt,” he suggested. “I do believe you’re taller than Master Dick now.”

“I’ve  _ been  _ taller than Dick,” the boy grumbled. “I want to get taller than  _ Bruce _ . He can’t keep me home if I’m bigger than he is.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you’d agreed on staying home from patrol until you finished training with the bolas?”

“I already did and he  _ still  _ won’t let me go,” Jason complained. He sat fully upright for the first time all day, eyes dark against his sallow skin. “Ever since he got back from that stupid business trip, it’s been one excuse after another. I’m tired of training forever and never going out. It’s stupid. There’s no  _ point _ .” His mouth curled into an ugly sneer. “He should just get it over with and fire me already since he don’t think I’m good enough anymore.”

Alfred startled, appalled.

“Master Jason! You can’t possibly believe that to be true.”

“Well, what else am I s’posed to think?” His face was pinched and reddening. He crossed his arms, fingers digging into flesh hard enough to bruise. “If I was good enough, I’d be Robin again. But I’m not. I’m stuck in the cave every night. It’s been a whole month since I been on patrol and I didn’t even  _ do  _ anything!”

Alfred’s frown returned in full force.

“I’m sure Master Bruce has his reasons, and I doubt very much that it’s because he thinks you aren’t good enough. I’m sure he’ll let you rejoin patrol soon.”

“No he won’t,” Jason said mulishly. “If he was gonna let me out again, he woulda done it already. He don’t want me to be Robin anymore, he just ain’t figured out a way to get rid of me yet.”

Alfred slammed the palm of his hand down on the counter. Jason startled at the sound, but didn’t lose the stubborn curl of his mouth.

“Enough!” Alfred said sharply. “I’ll not have you speaking that way. Your father is not trying to... to be rid of you! That is the last thing he wants, I assure you.” Alfred reigned himself in, taking a breath in to the count of three and exhaling in a whoosh. He began again, much quieter.

“Your father loves you very much, Jason. Of that you should have no doubt.” The curl of Jason’s lip faded, the ghost of guilt taking its place. “I will speak with Master Bruce about your… concerns. Leave it to me and all will be well.” Alfred forced a gentle smile. “Now run along and play in the gardens until lunch. The sun will do you good.”

Jason slipped off the stool and out the back door without another word. Alfred watched him go, smile sliding from his face as soon as the boy turned away. His arm flew up and he almost grabbed Jason by the shoulder, a sudden wild fear shuddering through his bones. A certainty that if Jason left his sight, he would cease to exist. He pulled his hand back at the last instant, curling it into a fist and letting it rest against his collarbone, where the ache in his chest met the sourness coating the back of his throat. Alfred stood rooted to the spot, watching the boy’s every move through the window until he disappeared into the boughs of an old red oak. He shook his head then, and tore himself away.

He could hardly spend all day glued to the window and Jason had spent many an afternoon in the gardens, like Bruce and Dick before him. All would be well and the sun would do him good. Even so, a slippery knot of unease made its home in the pit of his stomach. Alfred did his best to ignore it, flitting from task to task with nary a break between.

He was so determined to stay busy that two thirty rolled around before he realized he’d forgotten to prepare anything for lunch. He breezed into the kitchen and threw together a pair of sausages on toasted buns, slathered with plenty of mustard and pickle relish as Jason preferred. It was a poor meal in Alfred’s opinion, but the fresh-cut vegetables and apple slices he served with it soothed his conscience. Jason always enjoyed the rare occasions he was allowed junk food and this middle ground would have to do.

Alfred sent Jason a text that lunch was ready and looked up just in time to see the boy fall out of the distant oak. He flailed on the way down, but hit the ground in a roll, just as he’d been taught. Alfred allowed himself a chuckle as Jason bounced up, unharmed, and slapped at his clothes to beat away the dust. When he wandered inside, he still had twigs caught in his mop of hair and Alfred sent him to wash with a fond smile.

Lunch was a hurried affair. Jason ate and rushed upstairs to finish his maths practice sheets before Master Bruce came home from work. Alfred himself grazed on the remaining vegetables from lunch as he chopped potatoes, carrots, red peppers, and onion and tossed them into a roasting pan. He topped the vegetables with a generous helping of minced garlic, sprigs of rosemary and thyme, and several dollops of butter. He slid the vegetables into the oven and whipped up a citrusy marinade that was laden with dill for the night’s salmon. He poured the marinade over the thick fillets and returned them the refrigerator.

Preparation done, Alfred spent the remainder of the afternoon airing out the bedrooms in the west wing. He pulled the laundry from the dryer ten minutes before Bruce was due to arrive home. He debated waiting until the fitted sheets were back on the mattresses to pop the salmon into the oven, but decided against it and resigned himself to leaving the rooms half-done. Bruce never appreciated deviations in his schedule unless he was the one doing the deviating.

By the time Bruce arrived, the salmon was in the oven, the vegetables cooling on the stovetop, and Alfred was waiting in the foyer. He took Bruce’s coat and slipped it onto the hanger he had ready, noting the crease in Bruce’s forehead and the slight thinning of his lips. 

“Good evening, sir. I trust all is well at the office?” A gentle prod.

Bruce grunted, expression unchanging.

“I see,” Alfred said lightly. “Dinner will be served shortly. I believe Master Jason is in his room; I shall expect you both in the dining room in ten minutes.”

Bruce waved vaguely and took the stairs two at a time. He did not even glance at Jason’s room. Curiouser and curiouser. It seemed Jason was not the only one with something weighing on his mind. He would have to move carefully tonight.

Dinner was a much more drawn out affair than lunch, or at least it seemed to Alfred. He counted time in the scrape of cutlery against plates and the mono-syllabic answer the boys passed back and forth like it was the only word they knew.

_ How was your maths practice?  _

_ Fine.  _

_ How was work?  _

_ Fine.  _

_ How was the food?  _

_ Fine. _

If Alfred heard the word “fine” once more tonight, he might just do something rash.

Eventually, the meal was finished and Alfred sent Jason downstairs to get changed for his nightly training session. Before Bruce could slink away to join him, Alfred laid a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back into his chair. Jason hesitated at the doorway-- technically, he wasn’t allowed in the cave without supervision-- but fled when faced with raised eyebrows from both Bruce and Alfred. Alfred checked the hall to be sure the boy had gone and then settled in the seat across from Bruce.

“What’s this about, Alfred?” Bruce sounded tired, preoccupied. Like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“I believe it’s high time we had a discussion, Master Bruce.”

“About what?” He stiffened, speaking so flatly that the words qualified as a question by mere technicality.

“About whom,” Alfred corrected. “I had an interesting conversation with Master Jason this afternoon.”

“Did you?” The flatness shifted to wariness with an undercurrent of confusion. Though Bruce prided himself on being unreadable, he’d never yet managed to hide how he was feeling from Alfred.

“I did.” Alfred took a cloth napkin, unused but mussed, and refolded it. He dragged his fingers down the edges, pressing against the seams until they were perfectly creased. “He is upset, Master Bruce. And reading into the situation more than is warranted, I think.”

“And what situation would that be?”

“He told me that he’s completed his training with the bolas, but that you still won’t allow him to go on patrol.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s not allowed out because he’s not ready _ . _ ”

“Then he lied and he hasn’t finished his training with the bolas.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Alfred pursed his lips.

“It’s one or the other, Master Bruce. You told him he could resume patrol once he became proficient with a long-range weapon. He chose the bolas and he completed the training.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s  _ ready _ .” Bruce retorted.

“Then what skill does he lack? He believes that you are convinced he is not good enough to be Robin, you know. Is he correct?”

Bruce shifted in his chair, the furrow in his brow deepening.

“No, that’s not-- It’s not about  _ skill _ , Alfred. It’s about his mindset. He’s sloppy and sullen. He sulks all the time and he lacks focus. It wouldn’t be safe for him to go out on patrol when he’s like this.”

“And you believe taking Robin away from him will improve matters? Don’t be ridiculous, Bruce. We both know that grounding the boy will only worsen his attitude.” Alfred leaned back, folded his hands neatly. “If you want him to improve his outlook, you’ll have to offer an incentive to do so. And offering him a  _ productive  _ outlet for his emotions would likely work wonders. It has before.”

“If he’s not in peak condition, he could make a mistake. He could get hurt.” Bruce’s face was granite, his voice filled with the rough gravel of Batman. Alfred arched an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“And you’ll be there every step of the way to ensure that he doesn’t.”

“He’s a  _ child _ .” Bruce spat, finally losing the grip on his temper.

“So was Dick,” Alfred countered. “You never objected to running about with him. And until your last business trip you had no issue with Jason patrolling either. If I recall correctly, and I believe I  _ do _ , you were even willing to let him patrol alone in your absence.”

Bruce sputtered, face reddening. Alfred soldiered on.

“In fact, I can’t think of a single reason for you to keep him from patrol tonight.” He paused, mouth twisting in distaste. “Unless, of course, Jason is correct and you won’t allow him because you want rid of him.”

Bruce blanched, all signs of temper draining from him in an instant. His mouth gaped open and his eyes were bright, wounded and tinged with fear.

“I would never-- that’s not-- I don’t want--  _ Alfred _ .”

Alfred reached across the table to squeeze Bruce’s hand.

“I know, my boy.”

Bruce pulled away and buried his face in his hands.

“What am I supposed to  _ do _ ?” He groaned. “I can’t lose him, Alfred. I’m just so…”

“You worry,” Alfred said gently. “All fathers do. But you can’t keep him in forever, Bruce. Especially not now that he’s had a taste of flying.”

“I know. I  _ know  _ that.”

They sat in silence. Alfred counted the spaces between Bruce’s shuddering inhales and pushed away the thought that tonight tasted of the past that once was. When the spaces between stretched like a chasm, Alfred cleared his throat and waded in.

“Might I make a suggestion, Master Bruce?”

Bruce raised his head and fixed him with a stare, eyes still glassy. He did not speak, but it was invitation enough.

“I think it would be wise to talk to Jason about your concerns. Let him know why you’ve been reluctant to bring him on patrol. Tell him that you care.” Alfred let the words sink in before continuing. “And I think it would be wiser still to allow him to join you on a shortened patrol route tonight. If he does well, I would suggest you continue the practice. Not every night, mind, but enough to ease his fears.”

Bruce was quiet for several long seconds. Eventually, he nodded, voice rasping up from the back of his throat.

“Fine. But if he’s not-- if something happens, I’m bringing him straight home.”

“Of course, sir. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

* * *

Dick collapsed onto his bed hard enough to bounce. He groaned and buried his face in the mattress, luxuriating in the pull of Earth’s gravity and the novelty of air that wasn’t recycled or funneled in from a tank. He’d always enjoyed space travel before, but he’d never been away from Earth for so long. He chuckled at the sudden thought that Alfred would be appalled-- he hasn’t cleaned his room in more than a month. He rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, a satisfied thrumming in his chest. It was  _ good  _ to be home.

He was in such a good mood that he grabbed his phone and typed out a text for Alfred. He thought for a second then added a string of emojis. Thought again, added Jason and Bruce, and hit send before he could change his mind.

_ guess whos back from outer sp8ce!!! mission status 💪💣👀👌💯💯 _

He watched his screen with anticipation, grin widening when Alfred’s response came through.

_ I do wish you’d use your words, sir. Are you well? _

Before he could reply, another text came through. This one from Jason.

_ i should have changed that stupid lock, i should have made u leave ur key _

Dick burst into laughter. He hadn’t had time to collect himself when his phone chimed again.

_ Master Jason, apologize at once! _

Dick tapped out another text, still chuckling.

_ 😂😂😂 its just a song alfred _

_ and im fine promise 👍 _

There was a knock at his door. He propped himself up on his elbow as Vic opened the door a crack and leaned through.

“Yo, we’re heading out for pizza. You in?”

Dick vaulted off the bed, leaving his phone on the mattress.

“Hell yeah! Let me change out and I’ll be right down.”

Vic rolled his eye.

“Don’t know why you ain’t changed already. Everybody else is.”

Dick started stripping out of his suit with a wink.

“Maybe my suit’s more comfortable than theirs.”

“Or maybe,” Vic said dryly. “You like the way it makes your ass look.”

Dick flipped him off and Vic returned the gesture before leaving, shutting the door behind him. Dick slipped into a pair of ratty jeans and an old hoodie that he stole from Wally when he moved in. The sleeves were too long on him, but when he pushed them up to his elbow, you couldn’t tell. He traded his mask out for a pair of shades and ran a hand through his hair to get that windblown look Kori loved, making finger guns at himself in the mirror. 

“Looking good, Grayson.” He winked at his reflection and flung himself back onto his mattress. He snagged his wallet and his phone, stuffed both into his back pocket, and bounced back to his feet and out the door. 

The rest of the team was already gathered in the front room. Donna and Kori were closest to the hall, idly chatting as they waited. Gar and Rachel were sharing a chair and a pair of earbuds as they watched something on Gar’s phone. Vic and Wally stood in the center of the room, arms folded and arguing.

“No way,” Wally was saying. “I’m telling you, Chicago Joe’s has the best pies. They’ve got so many toppings and the Works is just-” He kissed his fingertips.

“Get outta here with that shit, man.” Vic said. “That ain’t even real pizza. I’m tellin’ you-- it’s gotta be Mario’s.”

“What, so I can watch you roll your slice up like a burrito?  _ Hell  _ no. Deep dish or nothing.”

Dick draped himself between the girls, an arm around their waists.

“This again, huh?”

Donna rolled her eyes, but didn’t move away. Kori leaned down and planted a kiss on his cheek. 

“Hello, Dick. The boys are having trouble reaching an accord. I think we should leave them and go to dinner on our own. I’m  _ starving _ .”

Dick grinned, stretched up to return the kiss.

“I’d love to, but you know how Wally gets if we don’t feed him on the regular. Just a minute and we’ll be on our way. If you’ll excuse me, ladies.” He slipped past them and made a show of tutting as he approached. “ _ Walls, Vic, _ we’ve talked about this, fellas. It doesn’t matter who makes the pizza  _ or  _ how it eats as long as the toppings are right.”

“Uh, full offense Dick, but you don’t get an opinion.” Wally objected. “You’re a  _ monster _ .”

“Gotta agree with Wally on this one. You have committed so many crimes against pizza.” Vic grimaced. “Actually, I’m uninviting you.  _ We’ll  _ go eat pizza out there in the  _ civilized  _ world and you can have  _ your  _ pizza delivered.”

Dick laughed and slid his wallet out of his pocket, waggling it in the air.

“Am I still uninvited if I’m buying?”

Wally groaned but held his hands up in surrender.

“I  _ hate  _ it when you do that. You know I can’t say no to free food!”

“I know,” Dick’s grin widened. “One of these days, my leftover pizza will be the only thing around and you’ll  _ have  _ to try it.”

Wally glared at him.

“The day I eat a pizza with anchovies, pineapple, and barbecue sauce is the day I die,  _ Dick _ .”

“I think it’s delicious.” Kori interrupted.

“You also think yellow mustard is a refreshing drink.” Vic retorted. He turned for the door, kicking Gar’s foot on the way past. Gar took the hint and paused the video, already chattering to Rachel about it as he took back the head phones. “Also, I’m driving and I say Mario’s. Suck it, Wally.” Wally groaned, but before he could say anything else Donna pushed past him and stalked out the door.

“Finally. I call shotgun!”

It didn’t take long to settle on seating arrangements, though Wally kept insisting that he’d called shotgun forever ago. Vic drove his car-- Donna in the front, Gar, Raven, and Wally in the back-- and Kori rode with Dick on his motorcycle.

They arrived at Mario’s a few hours before close and staked out a table with a good view of the TV to watch the game. It was half an hour before their order was up, but even the hungriest of them didn’t mind. They’d hardly noticed the time pass between watching the game and their conversation. They were all jubilant, still riding the high of a successful mission and ecstatic to be home. Even Rachel was coming out of her shell, cracking sly jokes and teasing her teammates by turns. Dick felt like he was on top of the world.

He was just about to dig into his second slice of the pizza he shared with Kori when his phone beeped-- a message from Bruce. He debated reading the text or waiting until morning, but paranoia won out; Bruce usually didn’t text. He slipped the phone from his pocket and checked it under the table while the others were distracted by the game.

_ Good _ .

That was it. The entire message. His mood changed in an instant, a knot of irritation and stress forming in the pit of his stomach. He exhaled sharply and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He tried to forget about the text, but he found himself returning to it again and again, worrying at it like a loose tooth. What had Bruce even meant? Good that he was home? Good that he was fine? Good work on the mission? Good  _ riddance _ ? 

His teammates kept trying to draw him back into the conversation, teasing and picking at him like they always did, but now it grated. By the time he paid the bill and they’d all headed back to base, his mood had completely soured. He left Kori by his bike, not waiting for her usual good night kiss, and stomped into his room, slamming and locking the door behind him.

How could Bruce be so infuriating with just one word? He had half a mind to call him and demand an explanation. But they would only start yelling and as annoyed as he was, he didn’t actually want to fight. Besides, Bruce was likely already heading out for patrol. Dick should be doing the same, but he’d just gotten back from a month long mission and all he wanted was to relax. And he’d been doing a pretty good job of it too until  _ Bruce  _ texted. He took off his hoodie and threw it at the wall, sitting on the side of his bed and fuming. He’d only been there for a few seconds when there was a knock at his door.

“What?” he snapped.

“Let me in.” It was Kori. She had her best  _ imperious  _ voice on and he groaned. She’d break his door down if he didn’t let her in when she was in that sort of mood and he’d rather not deal with that too. He crossed the room and unlocked the door, wrenching it open with a glare. She glared right back.

“ _ What _ ?” he said again.

“I demand to know why you are upset.” She said, looking down her nose at him. She towered over him. Already half a foot taller than he was, she’d exaggerated the height difference by hovering another three inches off the ground. Dick sneered. He hated it when she loomed over him like that.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you. Leave me alone.”

“No!” She clenched her hands into fists. “We were having a lovely time and now you’re going to ruin it!”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “I didn’t even do anything to you.”

“You left me. You slammed the door in my face and you didn’t even kiss me! You always give me a kiss.” She stomped her foot, mid-air. “I want a  _ kiss _ !”

“Why don’t you make me?” He snarled.

Her eyes flashed and she pushed her way into the room, and slammed her mouth against his. He kissed her back, catching the bottom of her lip between his teeth and biting down. She growled and slammed the door shut with her foot, picking him up and throwing them both onto his bed. It was angry and stupid and very loud and maybe later he would feel bad about all this, but as long as he was moving, he wasn’t thinking and he wanted very badly not to think. He fell asleep, sandwiched between Kori and the mattress, exhausted and bruised, with the hope that morning would be better.

He woke before Kori did, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. For a moment, everything was  _ good--  _ his room lighting up with the vivid pinks and oranges of dawn, throwing halos from Kori’s hair and burnished bronze skin. And then he caught sight of his phone on his nightstand and his chest twinged with something like fear. He swallowed convulsively and grabbed at the phone, hardly noticing Kori stirring next to him. He checked his missed calls and texts-- several from Wally begging them to keep it down, he was trying to sleep  _ please--  _ but nothing to explain the feeling creeping up his throat; something like guilt or regret, something with the taste of a half-remembered grief.

Kori slung an arm over his chest and nuzzled into his side, voice low and raspy with the dawn.

“It is too early for phones; let’s go back to sleep.”

He swallowed and dropped his arm, cradling the phone to his chest.

“Let me up, Kori.” He murmured.

She pouted, but released him. He crawled out of bed, wincing at the pull of bruises on his hips, and grabbed the first pair of pants he found. Kori levered herself up to sit against the headboard, not bothering to cover herself and frowned at him.

“Where are you going this early? Aren’t we going to kiss and make up some more?”

“Not now, Kori.” He hunted for a clean shirt, then settled for a shirt he’d only worn once. “There’s something I need to check.”

She stretched languidly and floated off the bed, tugging the sheet along with her.

“Is it about whatever upset you last night?”

“I…” he pulled the shirt over his head and frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t know. I’ve just got this… this weird feeling.”

She hummed and wrapped the sheet around her, planting a chaste kiss on his forehead as she floated past.

“Well, I hope you figure it out. Making up is fun, but I don’t like it when you’re upset.”

He grunted, trying to ignore the prickle of annoyance.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like it much either.”

She paused beside the door with another frown, then floated back to him.

“What’s wrong? Tell me. Please.”

He put his hands on his hips and breathed in as deeply as he could, as if filling his lungs with enough air would force the tightness from his chest.

“It’s stupid. Shouldn’t even matter.”

She curled into a loose ball and dipped closer to the floor, so she could see his whole expression. There were creases at the corners of her eyes- worry lines.

“But it matters to you.” She said softly. “I am sorry I was angry last night. I won’t be angry this time; I promise. You can tell me.”

“It’s nothing. I just texted B last night and his response was kind of shitty. That’s it, that’s all that happened.” He sighed, smiled weakly at her. “Sorry. It really is dumb. I shouldn’t have been so angry either. He just… gets under my skin.”

“Family will do that,” Kori said with a sharp smile. “I understand.” She hesitated then brushed the back of her hand against his cheek. “Next time, tell me  _ before  _ we start the yelling?”

“Yeah. I will.”

She smiled again, much softer, and blew him a kiss as she left. Dick sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair before grabbing his laptop off the floor and heading out to the common room. He set up on the end of the couch, sitting tailor style with the laptop propped on his knees. 

It didn’t take long for the machine to boot up, but getting into the Batcomputer servers would be another story. He grimaced and cracked his knuckles. He was a little rusty at breaking through security systems-- a perk of having Vic on the team-- but he had a few ideas of where to begin. He settled in and got to work, poking for holes in the network. The security hadn’t changed much since he’d moved out. There were a few new routines he’d have to work a little harder to bypass, but the first wall still had a backdoor Barbara had shown him months ago. The real trick would be to get through everything without triggering a subroutine that would alert Bruce. The knot in his stomach squeezed tighter with every layer he went through until he was bordering nauseous.

He was working through the last layer of security when Gar came in and flopped onto the other end of the couch hard enough to jostle Dick. Dick paused just long enough to shoot him a glare as he stretched out, pressing his feet against Dick’s knee. Gar grinned back at him, looking supremely satisfied.

“You’re up early.”

“I could say the same about you.” Dick shot back, stuffing down his irritation. “I’ve never seen you up before noon.”

Gar wiggled further back into the cushions with a yawn, toes curling against Dick’s knee.

“Does it count as being up if I never went to sleep?”

Dick grunted, eyes narrowed as he worked around a particularly devious piece of code. A few more lines of work and he should be home free. 

“Sounded like you didn’t get any sleep either. You and Kori were really goin’ at it last night, huh?”

Dick gritted his teeth and ignored the younger teen. Gar nudged him with his foot.

“Hey, so was it like a hate sex thing or an angry sex thing or just like a  _ kinky  _ sex thing because, like--”

Dick’s fingers slipped and he executed his program an instant before he’d finished writing it. His computer beeped and flashing pop-up boxes flooded his screen as the server deployed its defenses. Gar cut himself off and bolted upright, scrambling over to see what Dick was working on. Dick did his best to ignore him, swearing as he silenced the alert and scrambled to cut the connection before the data packet finished transferring. He didn’t know every surprise Bruce had tucked away in the security net, and he’d rather not get his hard drive completely trashed. His hands flew across the keyboard and he managed to halt the transfer just in time. Dick groaned and slumped back into the cushions, glaring at the ceiling. Today was  _ not  _ his day.

“Sooo, that didn’t look good.” Gar settled more comfortably, letting one leg dangle from the sofa and pulling the other close. “Whatcha trying to hack?”

“Nothing special,” Dick said dully. “Just the Batcomputer.”

“What, really? Damn. Batman didn’t give you, like, permissions or something?”

“Nope.” Dick popped the last syllable. “Lost those when I quit being Robin.”

Gar whistled, thought for a moment.

“Y’know, Vic could prob’ly hack it no problem. Bet he’d love to take a crack at it. I can go ask, if-”

“ _ No. _ ” Dick said sharply. “I’d rather not piss B off any more than he already is. I like having a trust fund. And all my limbs.”

Gar shrugged.

“I mean, if you need in, you need in. You sure you don’t want--”

“ _ No _ , Gar.” Dick cut in. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I can still get in, it’s just that B is going to know I was snooping. Not looking forward to that conversation.”

Gar made a sympathetic noise and stretched back out on the couch, eyes drifting shut.

“Well, if you change your mind, I know a guy.”

Dick rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone, shooting off a text to Bruce. Better to bite the bullet now.

_ its me dont panic ✌ _

He didn’t have to wait long for the reply.

_ Why are you hacking into the servers? _

_ just checking something wont take long 😉 _

_ Could have asked. _

Dick felt a flash of anger, shoved it down as he tapped out a response.

_ this was more fun 😈 _

He threw his phone on the coffee table and ignored the next three messages in favor of fixing his program’s code and successfully breaking into the servers. He combed through the files, catching up on everything he’d missed while he was off planet. There was a shocking number of closed cases in the past month-- almost double what they’d usually managed when Dick had been Robin. His irritation grew with every file he opened, compounded by a slithering guilt at every mention of Jason as Robin.

He slammed his laptop shut. He’d had a suspicion that something was wrong and Bruce was too much of an ass to admit it, but now it was obvious that Bruce and Jason both were more than fine without him. He grimaced. Gar snorted in his sleep and kicked against Dick’s thigh. Already annoyed, Dick shoved Gar’s feet off the cushions, jolting him awake. Gar sat up, rubbing his eyes and stifling a giant yawn.

“Wha’s happenin’, wha’d I miss?”

“Go sleep in your room.”

Gar did his very best impression of a kicked puppy, flickering between shapes faster than Dick could change clothes. Gar-the-puppy whined and flopped onto his side, blinking up at Dick with big, mournful eyes. Dick’s mouth twisted and he scooped Gar up and dropped him on the floor.

“Not gonna work. Go to  _ bed,  _ Gar. I’ve got work to do and you’re breaking my concentration.”

Gar shifted back into his humanoid form and stumbled off toward his bedroom. 

“‘M going because I want to, not because you told me to.” He mumbled. Dick stared at the wall, listening for the tell-tale click of a closing door. Instead, he heard a muted thump and a groan. Dick sighed.

“You have to  _ open  _ the door, genius.”

“Shut  _ up _ ,” Gar moaned. “It’s too early to think.”

Gar fumbled with the door handle for a few more seconds, eventually managing to open the door and slam it shut behind him. Dick rolled his eyes and reached for his laptop, hand hesitating just over the shell. He’d intended to finish up his report of their off-world mission today and then he’d planned to troll through the nets until he found a  _ new  _ mission for his team to take a crack at. But there was a buzzing in his bones that crept up into his skull, an insistent static that pricked in all the wrong ways, just as distracting as the queasy slip of anger-guilt-betrayal that pooled in his gut. He balled his hand into a fist and sprang up from the couch.

He jogged down the hall and slid down the banister to the training room in the lower levels. Vic and Donna were already there. Vic working on the engine of his car and Donna halfway through her morning katas. Dick nodded at Vic and came to a stop at the edge of the mats, bouncing on his toes as he watched Donna whip her sword through the air in a complex pattern, fast enough that it blurred and the air whistled. He taped his hands and grabbed his escrima sticks, ignoring the padded armor. He swung the sticks around and moved through the bare minimum of stretches, the buzzing turning into a humming anticipation. He waited for a lull in Donna’s movements and sprang into action, meeting her sword with a crossblock. 

The reverberations shook his arms and the sticks dipped, but Dick could only laugh at the look of shock on Donna’s face. Her expression flipped to crackling anger at the sound of his laughter and she tugged her sword away with more force than necessary, the rasp of metal on metal echoing through the room. Dick could feel the weight of Vic’s eye on the back of his neck, knew he had an audience. Didn’t particularly care.

“That was reckless, even for you,” She snapped. “Didn’t Batman teach you never to leap in front of an Amazon’s sword?”

“It never came up,” he said. He grinned and knew there was an edge to it that didn’t belong there. Knew she was right and this was dangerous at best, flat-out stupid at worst. He didn’t care about that either. “What’s the matter? Don’t you want to spar?”

“It’s only sparring if both parties agree, Grayson.” She ground out, sheathing her sword.

He flipped his sticks around teasingly, crooning as he circled her.

“Ohhh, you called me  _ Grayson _ . Did I upset you, Wonder Girl? Were you  _ frightened _ ?”

Her nostrils flared, grip tightening on her sword hilt as she tracked his movements.

“Stop it. If this is some sort of game, I’m not playing.”

“Not yet,” he conceded. “Come on, what are you waiting for? Let’s spar. I know you want to.”

“No,” she said tightly. “I don’t.”

He darted forward and flicked a blow at her side. She dodged easily, her lips pressed tight with fury.

“ _ Stop it.” _

“Make me,” he said tauntingly. “Take a swing, Wonder Girl. I know you’re dying to try.”

Vic cleared his throat and Dick risked a glance over his shoulder, surprised to find that the older man now stood at the edge of the mats.

“She said she doesn’t want to spar, Dick.”

Dick rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight, locking eyes with Donna once more.

“She’s lying,” he sneered. “She’s still got her hand on her sword. She’s still on the mats.”

Donna released the hilt of her weapon hastily, cheeks flushing. She spun away and stalked off the mats, pausing at the edge and looking back over her shoulder to pin him with a stare. 

“You shame yourself.” She looked as if she wanted to say more, but settled for pressing her lips together and shaking her head in disgust. Dick watched her leave, could feel the snarl building in his chest.

“I’m not the one backing down from a fight,  _ Wonder Girl! _ ” He whirled to face Vic, grasping his escrima sticks so tightly that the tape across his knuckles creaks. “What about you, huh? You too chicken to spar with me,  _ Cyborg _ ?”

Vic shook his head.

“Ain’t about being chicken.” He said calmly. “You ain’t in any condition to spar right now and we both know it.”

“The hell I'm not!”

Vic frowned and crossed his arms.

“Something’s going on with you, man. We can all see it. You want to talk to somebody about it, cool. But none of us are gonna be your punching bag because you feel shitty. And we ain’t gonna  _ use _ you as a punching bag either.”

Dick glared at him.

“Nothing,” He gritted out. “Is wrong. I’m fine.  _ Everything _ is  _ fine _ . I just need to blow off some steam.”

Vic stared impassively, the faint glow of his cybernetic eye casting shadows over the rest of his face.

“Okay.” He turned away and climbed the stairs, unhurried. “You want to throw a tantrum, blow off some steam- go ahead. When you’re ready to handle your shit like an adult and  _ talk _ about it, we'll be waiting.”

Dick yelled in frustration and threw his escrima as hard as he could at the far wall. They hit with a dull crunch and clattered to the concrete floor, leaving a dent in the plaster. He stared at the damage, chest heaving. He fisted his hands in his hair and sank into a crouch.

“What the hell,” he breathed, voice shaking. “What the hell am I  _ doing _ ?” Something wet dripped from his nose to the mat and he startled. He let go of his hair, touched his cheek and found tears. He straightened, dashed the tears away with the back of his hand.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Vic’s right. I’m losing it.” Maybe Vic was right about other things, too. Maybe throwing himself into something violent wouldn’t help. He tore the tape from his hands and, instead of turning to the practice dummies, he switched on the treadmill, selected an endurance program, and started running.

He ran until his legs trembled and he gasped for breath, until it was just the next step and the next breath and nothing else. It was as close to true meditation as he could get. He didn’t know how much time had passed when the hazy thought crossed his mind-

_ I should have been there for Jason. _

He missed his next step and slipped off the treadmill. He blinked up at the ceiling, too stunned to do anything but heave like a fish out of water until Rachel leaned over him, dark hair framing her face instead of hiding it. She offered him a hand and he took it. She hauled him up to a sitting position and passed him a bottle of water. He took it without a word, draining it in steady gulps.

“That was graceful. You’ve been down here for hours, you know.” Her tone was mild, though there was a hint of reproach in her words.

“Sorry.”

She sat next to him with a shrug, tucking her hair behind an ear.

“You don’t owe  _ me _ an apology.”

They sat together in silence, Dick still working to even his breathing and Rachel content to wait. Eventually, his pulse slowed and he could speak without gasping for air.

“Thanks. For the water.”

She inclined her head, but didn’t speak. Dick chewed on his bottom lip.

“You’re thinking too hard,” she said serenely. “You have a question. Ask it.”

He huffed and folded his legs underneath him, grimacing at the way they shook.

“What are you doing, Rachel?”

“This is the training room. I’m training.”

Dick raised an eyebrow.

“You do PT on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and half the time we have to drag you down here.”

Her lips twitched upward at the corners.

“Observant.”

“Always am.”

“I have my doubts; Donna claimed you’d lost all reason.”

Dick winced.

“Yeah, I was kind of an ass today.”

“Another astute observation.”

“I’ll apologize when I go back up.”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Rachel advised. “She’s still upset and so are you.”

He pressed sweaty palms flat against his thighs.

“I don’t mean to be.”

She tilted her head consideringly.

“But there  _ is _ something bothering you. A shadow follows you; one that wasn’t there before.”

Dick tensed.

“A shadow?”

She frowned.

“It’s a figure of speech. Relax.”

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I’ve just got this feeling that something’s wrong and I’m  _ missing  _ it.”

“You were fine until we got back to Earth,” she pointed out. “Something must have happened to trigger this.”

“I know. The only thing I can think of is that B texted me last night.”

She laughed once, humorlessly.

“Ah. Daddy issues, our old nemesis.”

Dick wrinkled his nose.

“That’s  _ not  _ what this is about. I’ve got a feeling that he’s hiding something. Something important. I think… I think it has to do with Jay. But that’s stupid.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“If it’s bothering you, it’s not stupid.”

“But if something was wrong, Jay would have told me. I mean, we aren’t  _ close _ , but… this feels big. I even hacked into the Batcomputer to try and figure out what all this is about and  _ nothing _ . Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

“If you think there’s something wrong, I believe you.” She spoke slowly. “You have good instincts; you need to trust them.”

“You think so?”

“Not to enable your paranoia,” she said with a quirk of her lips. “But you  _ are  _ usually right about these things.”

Dick grinned, swayed until he bumped her shoulder with his.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Any time.” Her eyes flashed and she rose off the ground just high enough to unfold her legs gracefully. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I hear Wally in the kitchen. I’m going to grab lunch before he eats everything in sight.”

“Solid plan.” He levered himself off the floor, wincing as the blood rushed back into his limbs. “Save me something, will ya? I’m gonna run through some stretches before I head up.”

She waved over her shoulder and glided up the steps. Dick shook his head fondly and began his stretches. His leg muscles were already in knots and the exercises pulled in uncomfortable ways, but he knew he’d feel worse if he skipped them. 

By the time he finished the last stretch and headed upstairs, Wally was the only one in the kitchen. Empty pizza boxes were scattered on the counters and the speedster was working his way through a double decker sandwich layered with meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and potato chips. Dick snagged the still open bag of chips and hopped up on the only clear countertop.

“Give ‘em back,” Wally said through a mouthful of half-chewed food. “Wasn’ done wi‘ose.”

Dick tossed a handful of chips into his mouth with a grin.

“Nope. You’ve had plenty; these are mine now.”

Wally swallowed, over-exaggerating his scowl.

“They said you were being an ass today. I shoulda listened.”

Dick’s grin went plastic and Wally dropped his scowl.

“Just messing with you, dude. I mean, Vic did mention you were a little uptight, but…” he shrugged. “You’re allowed to have bad days.”

Dick pursed his lips, set down the bag of chips.

“No, Vic was right. I was out of line.”

Wally took another enormous bite of his sandwich, looked expectantly at Dick. Dick shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it, Walls. I’m dealing with it.” 

Wally looked doubtful.

“I’m serious. I’m gonna book a flight to Gotham for tomorrow morning, hash some things out. It’ll be fine.”

“Well,” Wally said, setting his sandwich down and wiping mustard from his chin. “I’m heading home for the weekend, too. Could drop you off first, if you want; save you the fare.”

“Nah. I want the time to decompress before I have to face off with the big guy.”

“Your funeral,” Wally shrugged. “If you need an extraction, hit me up. I could use your help this weekend anyhow. I am  _ so behind _ on coursework it’s not even funny.”

“I have zero sympathy for you.” Dick said dryly. “You’re a speedster. If you’d just sit down and do it you’d be done in half an hour.”

“But everything’s online,” Wally whined. “The lectures don’t have transcripts, the computer freezes anytime I type too fast, and if I finish the assignments too quickly they think I cheated. It’s  _ torture _ .”

“You’re the one that wanted to go to college. You could have dropped out like me.”

“You only got to drop out because B is loaded. Us poor peons have to work for a living and the jobs that’ll keep me fed require a degree.”

“Hey, I’ll learn a trade eventually,” Dick said defensively. “I’m not gonna live off of my trust fund forever. I just feel like it’s more important to be Nightwing right now.”

Wally polished off the rest of his sandwich.

“It’s not like the world’s gonna fall apart without you to babysit it, Dick. You’re allowed to have a life, too.”

Dick grinned.

“You’re probably right. But why take that chance?”

* * *

Alfred was putting the kettle on for lunch when his phone chirped with a notification; someone was waiting to be buzzed in at the Manor gates. He pulled up the app on his phone and nearly dropped the device at the sight of Master Dick outside the gates with too-long hair, worn-out clothes, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Alfred’s throat tightened and he closed his eyes, willing his hands not to shake. He took a moment to gather himself-- long enough for Dick to hit the call button again-- and unlocked the gate, slipping his phone back in his pocket. He dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief before squirreling it away once more and hurrying to the front door, heart fit to burst. It seemed hardly any time at all before he heard Dick climbing the steps and swung the door open to greet him.

“Master Dick! It is  _ so good _ to see you.”

Dick beamed, caught him in a side hug, and moved past him into the house.

“Hi Alfred! Long time, no see.”

“Too long, my dear boy. You  _ must  _ come home more often.”

Dick’s smile flickered.

“Yeah, sure. Hey, where’s everyone else?”

A distant whistle rang through the house and Alfred startled.

“Ah, that will be the tea. I’d quite forgotten I had the kettle on.” Alfred sped towards the kitchen, Dick trailing behind. “Master Bruce is working from the office today and Master Jason is somewhere on the grounds. The old red oak, most likely.” He moved the kettle from the stove and slid a tea cosy over the top. He paused. “Why don’t you go fetch him? I know he’ll be glad to see you and lunch is almost ready.”

Dick shrugged off his duffle bag and set it on the floor next to the bar, already looking through the kitchen window towards the old oak.

“Alright. I’ll see if I can track him down.”

He sauntered outside, already calling for his younger brother. Alfred smiled fondly and pulled another place setting from the cabinet. He’d intended to serve tomato bisque for lunch-- Jason always appreciated a hot meal, no matter the temperature outdoors-- but there wasn’t quite enough to fill all three of them. It was a problem solved easily enough.

He pulled down a slab of cheddar cheese, two apples, and yesterday’s loaf. He sliced the lot, warmed a bit of butter on the griddle, and swiftly assembled three sandwiches. As he waited for the cheese to melt, he resumed making tea-- chamomile for Dick and a strong chai for himself. He hesitated, then added a ball of chai for Jason. The boy did love to sleep through these lazy summer days and with Dick home, he imagined a dose of caffeine could be allowed. He flipped the sandwiches as the tea steeped and checked the window for the boys. They were just now plodding back from the oak tree and Alfred’s heart fluttered at the sight of the boys together. Jason was correct; he’d gained a few centimeters of height over Dick, a fact his brother was sure to resent.

Alfred chuckled at the thought and transferred the now golden sandwiches to saucers and cut them neatly into triangles. He divvied the soup between three bowls and was putting on the finishing touches-- a generous sprinkling of freshly cracked pepper and basil-- when the boys trudged inside. They made a beeline for the sink, washing up without needing a reminder before settling at the bar. Alfred smiled and passed the sandwiches over, content to let his own meal cool if it meant he could savor the sight of them together.

Jason soldiered through his soup, gulping it fast enough that he could have scarcely tasted it, one hand cupping the bowl at all times. Dick ate pensively, eschewing the spoon he’d been given in favor of alternating between soaking his sandwich a bite at a time and sipping straight from the bowl. His hair was wind blown, shaggy and brushing his shoulders while Jason’s curls pressed flat against the back of his skull from the time he’d spent basking under his favorite tree. Sitting next to each other, they could be mistaken for blood brothers. Alfred drank them in like a man dying of thirst.

He luxuriated in that blessedly mundane moment, memorized their faces. The thick, clinging smell of tomato and toasted bread. The pleasant juxtaposition of cooled air and the heat of the sun against his back, the same sun that threw dappled light across the boys’ skin, as if they themselves glowed. The rasp of a spoon against porcelain, countered by quiet slurps. It was a sight unseen until this moment.

It was more than worth it. Bearing the burden of the horrific time before and gently guiding his charges through the echoes that so bewildered them, patching them back together with careful, even stitches. This was everything he ever wanted, everything he’d hoped for. Overcome with joy, Alfred prayed for the first time in months. 

_ G-d of compassion, I thank you for the gift of these children, entrusted to my care. May I be patient and understanding, ever ready to guide and to forgive. Strengthen us in our daily living that in joy and in sorrow we may know the power of your presence to bind together and to heal. _

The moment ended with Jason pushing away his bowl decisively and sliding off his stool.

“Done. Going upstairs.”

Dick blinked into focus.

“Jay, you didn’t even try your sandwich.”

“Don’t want it; you eat it.”

“Master Jason, don’t you want to spend more time with your brother?”

Jason shrugged.

“Later.”

Alfred frowned, but Dick caught his eye with a head shake.

“It’s fine, Alfred. I wanted to talk to you about something anyways.”

Alfred hummed in dissatisfaction, but cleared away Jason’s bowl.

“What about?”

Dick hesitated.

“You should sit down and eat. I could use another minute to figure out where to start.”

Alfred complied with a raised eyebrow.

“Start at the beginning, lad. Is something bothering you?”

Dick propped his chin in his hands and his elbows on the counter, one foot swinging idly, eyebrows pinched together.

“What happened while I was gone?”

“Quite a lot, I’m sure. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“What happened with Jason?”

Alfred stiffened.

“Nothing happened; he is perfectly well. You saw him yourself just a moment ago.”

“No, I mean-“ Dick huffed, sat back and drummed his fingers on the countertop. “Jason told me Bruce doesn’t let him out anymore.”

“An exaggeration. Master Jason is simply on an abbreviated patrol schedule.”

“ _ Why? _ It’s the middle of summer.”

“Master Bruce believes that this is the most appropriate schedule for him. He wants to keep him safe and I happen to agree.” Alfred said shortly.

“But he let me stay out all night, every night when I was out of school. And last year, he let Jason do the same. What happened that changed his mind? What does he need to be kept safe  _ from? _ ”

“Nothing.” Alfred said frostily. “Nothing happened and we intend to keep it that way.”

Dick’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re hiding something. Alfred, I’ve known something was wrong since I got back. Stop covering for him and tell me what’s going on!”

Alfred’s lips thinned and he let the ringing silence speak for him. In the distance, a door slammed. Footsteps, full of purpose, rang through the manor’s halls and Bruce burst into the kitchen, irritation clear on his face.

“Alfred, you’ll never believe what--” He pulled up short at the sight of Dick. His eyes darted to Alfred and back, the tension in the room breaking over him like a wave. “Dick,” he said flatly. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. You’re hiding something from me.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed.

“What could I possibly be hiding from you?”

Dick’s upper lip curled.

“Let’s start with whatever’s going on with Jason.”

Bruce went rigid, spoke between clenched teeth.

“There is nothing  _ going on _ with Jason. Jason is  _ fine _ .” There was an intensity to the words that seared. Alfred’s nails bit into the flesh of his palm; the air was thin.

“I’m not blind, Bruce. He’s not acting like himself. If you’d pull your head out of your ass for once, maybe you could see that.”

“How would you know?” Bruce’s voice cut like a whip. “You’re never here. You don’t know anything about him!”

Dick recoiled, shock clear in his eyes. It was snuffed out by a towering fury and he slid from the stool to stand toe to toe with his father, jabbing a finger at his chest.

“I know enough. Enough to know you’re keeping him on a short leash-- shorter than mine ever was! What gives you the right to keep him locked --”

“How I raise Jason is none of your damn business.”

“Bull _ shit _ .”

“He’s  _ my _ son.”

“He’s  _ my _ brother!”

“Gentlemen,  _ please _ ,” Alfred croaked. His voice hardly crept above a whisper, throat bone-dry. His ears buzzed with the volume of their shouts. 

_ This was not supposed to happen. _

“You’ve  _ never  _ cared about Jason,” Bruce thundered. “Don’t pretend to start now.”

“I care enough to call you out on your bullshit. Enough to take him back to the Titans with me, to actually  _ try  _ to figure out what the hell is going on with  _ you  _ and  _ him  _ and  _ everything _ .”

Bruce’s face contorted into something past fury.

“If you  _ ever  _ try to take my son away from me, I will make you regret it for the rest of your days Richard Grayson. He  _ needs  _ me.”

“He needs  _ help _ , not another fucking  _ tyrant  _ for a father!”

“That’s enough!” Alfred’s throat ached from the force of his shout. Both men whirled on him, chests heaving, an instant away from coming to blows. In the sudden quiet, it was all too easy to hear a choked-off gasp and the patter of feet back up the stairs. “We  _ all  _ want what’s best for Master Jason. If you’re both  _ quite  _ done making fools of yourselves, we can sit down and talk about this like civilized people!”

Dick shook his head, eyes still bright with anger.

“No. I’m done talking. You’ll take his side like you always do.” Dick snatched his duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll figure this out myself.” He stormed out of the kitchen, hair flying in every direction. He yelled up the stairs without bothering to stop. “Jason, just say the fucking word and I’ll come back for you. I don’t care what Bruce says, I’ll do it!”

Bruce bolted down the hall after Dick.

“ _ Get out of my house! _ ”

Alfred sagged onto a stool, face in his hands, until the only thing he could hear was his own breathing. When the house was silent, he threw out the uneaten food, made a fresh pot of tea, and climbed the stairs to check on Jason.

One thing at a time.

* * *

Alfred balanced the basket of folded clothes on his hip and made his way down to the cave. It had been a particularly warm afternoon and even the cave air had heated. Alfred checked the thermostat hung on the wall-- 22 C -- and made a mental note to check the wine cellars. He’d put off turning on the chillers, but they were only three weeks into June and the summer would only grow hotter.

He continued to the locker room, tilting his head to acknowledge Bruce when he looked up from the Batcomputer. Bruce turned back to his work and Alfred restocked the room with tank tops, jogging pants, and a myriad of towels. He left the now-empty basket near the shower stalls to catch future dirty clothes and moved to the medical suite. It was much as he’d left it last week. Their supplies of bandages and ointments were perfectly in order, the antidotes still safe in their case, and the seal on the pouch of sterilized surgical equipment was still unbroken.

Routine tasks done, Alfred joined Bruce at the computer, glancing over the monitors with little interest. Auction listings for various imported goods filled one screen while several articles about the exploits of Mr. and Mrs. Drake filled another. A third sported a lengthy table with dates, artifacts, prices and a list of names-- many he recognized as other members of Gotham’s high society. The remaining monitors played a mix of muted news coverage and footage from the Manor’s security cameras. As he watched, Bruce filled in another line of the table.

_ 01.15 _ _ _ _ _ _ Ivory Carving _ _ _ _ _ _ Drakes 10.15 - 12.31 _ _ _ _ _ _ Sold 125k _

“Spying on the neighbors, Master Bruce?”

Bruce grunted and began scanning through another article.

“Hardly. Penguin’s been dealing with a new smuggling ring recently and I’m tracking down the members. I have a few promising suspects, but the Drakes seem like the best fit so far. Around half of the product Penguin puts on the market shows up within a week or two of them arriving back in Gotham.”

“Fascinating. Will you be getting a late start to patrol then? I’ve all the ingredients for shrimp scampi if you’re not in too much of a hurry. Or if you’d prefer, I can pack a chicken caesar wrap for you and Jason to eat on the run.”

Bruce scowled.

“A wrap is fine for me.  _ Jason  _ can have scampi. He’s grounded until further notice-- absolutely no patrol.”

Alfred blinked in surprise.

“Whatever for? He didn’t say a word about it this morning.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly.

“No, I suppose he wouldn’t want you to know.” Bruce turned to face Alfred, looking much older than he had the day before. “Jason almost died last night.”

Alfred’s heart stopped.

“It was near the end of patrol,” Bruce continued. “We were circling back to the car and Jason ran ahead of me. He jumped before he made sure his line was secure and--” Bruce’s face crumpled. “I almost didn’t catch him, Alfred.”

“I… I see.” Alfred murmured. Bruce closed his eyes and scrubbed at his face. 

“I can’t let him out again until he’s been completely retrained with the grapple. It’s not  _ safe. _ ”

“No,” Alfred said. “That wouldn’t do at all. His safety is the most important thing.” He quieted, mind racing. This was… an opportunity. He had to look at it as such, move past the horror of the thing itself and  _ use  _ it. “Perhaps… perhaps Dick could work with him. He’s always been gifted with lines and ropes. It might serve as a peace offering, of sorts; put your mind and his at ease. They could take it slow, train only in the cave.” He trailed off. Bruce was already shaking his head, wearily.

"Dick doesn't want anything to do with me. He won't answer any of my texts or calls." Bruce snorted. "I had to find out from Cyborg that Dick isn't even with the Titans anymore. He's running a solo operation in Bludhaven."

Alfred frowned. Why hadn't he known that? Dick hadn't moved until late July last time around and he'd gotten a text from him with his new address soon after.

"If you hadn't shouted at him last month, this wouldn't be an issue," Alfred chided.

"I know," Bruce said glumly. "I don't know why this keeps happening. I only want what's best for them both, but Dick just doesn't listen. He thinks he knows what's best, and-" Bruce shook his head, a spark of irritation behind his eyes.

"I think," Alfred said dryly. "It might be best if I handled this, sir. He might be more receptive to the request if it comes from me."

Bruce exhaled heavily.

"If you think it'll help, then by all means. Do what you think is necessary." He stood, stretched. "I need to suit up. Penguin's got another auction set up for tonight and I need to be there."

"Of course. I'll send your dinner down the dumbwaiter shortly. Don't forget to take it with you, Master Bruce. It'll be ruined by the time you return."

Bruce grunted and headed for the locker room, already stripping out of his sweatshirt. Alfred tutted and went back upstairs. He'd grilled and sliced the chicken earlier, so it was the work of a moment to assemble Bruce's dinner. A generous helping of chicken, two handfuls of mixed greens, a sprinkling of Parmesan cheese, and a drizzle of Caesar dressing wrapped tightly in a whole wheat tortilla and packaged in plastic wrap. He poured a handful of dried fruit into one small bag and peanut butter oat clusters into another. He threw everything into a brown paper bag with a bottle of water and sent the lot downstairs. That done, he turned his attention to more important matters.

It took longer to locate Jason than usual. He was in none of his usual haunts, but if he were trying to hide it was no surprise. Eventually, Alfred found him sulking in the library on the second floor. Alfred almost didn't bother to look in the second library-- Jason strongly favored the main floor library with its greater variety of literature and plethora of comfortable chairs. But, Alfred supposed, if the goal was to hide from the world, the labyrinthine shelves of nonfiction and alcoves stuffed with antique furniture were more than up to the task.

Jason was curled up underneath a table in a rarely used corner of the room, quilt draped around his shoulders. When Alfred stooped to look at him, he glared up dolefully.

"Come on out, young master." Alfred said gently. "It's quite alright to be upset, but I'd rather you not lurk under the furniture."

Jason grumbled, but complied. He tripped over the quilt more than once as he crawled out from under the table and collapsed into the nearest chair, shifting his glare to the quilt that had fallen from his shoulders to pool around his waist.

"Is this where you've been hiding since lunch?"

Jason shrugged, unwilling to speak.

Alfred pursed his mouth.

"I'm quite aware of what transpired last night. If you're hiding because you think I will be cross with you--"

"Not hiding. The lights are too bright." Jason said sourly.

Alfred glanced at the overhead light. It was a bright bulb, but no brighter than the lights in other areas of the manor. 

"I see." He said succinctly. "Well, as you are not hiding, perhaps you would like to come down to the kitchen and assist with dinner. We'll be having scampi; you can stir the sauce while I cook the shrimp."

"Not hungry, either." Jason groused. He pulled the quilt back over his shoulders.

"It'll be just the two of us," Alfred wheedled. "I'm sure we could find something you'd like better. We could make hot chocolates and mug cookies for dessert, if that's what you want."

Jason sighed.

"I guess that doesn't sound terrible."

Alfred smiled and squeezed his shoulder.

"Come on, then. Let's go downstairs."

Jason stood, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. Alfred's smile fell.

"Perhaps you should leave that here. Wouldn't want you to fall down the stairs." He said lightly. "We can find a sweater for you if you're cold. Or adjust the temperature, for that matter."

Jason let the quilt drop back into the chair with a mournful look.

"It's okay. I don't really need it, I guess."

They found their way to the kitchen and between the two of them, had the scampi on the table within half an hour. They ate in silence for a while, Jason powering through his pasta and Alfred taking the time to choose his words. As Jason neared the end of his meal, Alfred cleared his throat. 

"I've been told you're grounded until further notice. Would you like to talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about," Jason said dully. "I'm not Robin anymore. Told ya he was just tryin to figure out a way to get rid of me. I finally messed up and now he's got one."

"Jason, we've talked about this." Alfred scolded. "Your father is not trying to be rid of you! He only wants to keep you safe." Alfred pushed his plate away. "I happen to agree, in this case. It'd be a terrible thing to lose you to a fall. Further training can only help you."

Jason wrinkled his nose.

"We already done this song and dance, Alfred. He ain't gonna let me out again this time, I know it." Jason pushed away his plate, too. "Maybe I should go live with Dick."

"I hardly think that will improve matters. Master Dick is in no position to look after you right now." Alfred shook his head in exasperation. "He's hardly grown himself, he has no business offering to raise anyone else.” Alfred hesitated. “I do think he might be able to assist us, however. What would you say if Master Dick were to take over your training as Robin? At least your work with the grapple gun and safety lines."

"Bruce'd never let him."

"He would; I've already asked. And I'm sure once your brother clears you for the field, Master Bruce will have no choice but to agree."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Jason chewed on his bottom lip.

"Bruce won't listen to anyone else.” Jason objected. “And he  _ never  _ thinks I'm good enough. There's always something wrong and he yells  _ all the time _ . Especially at Dick." Jason shook his head. "It wouldn't change a thing."

"We won't know for sure until we try, will we lad?"

"I'm tired of trying and not being good enough. Sometimes I think I don't even wanna be Robin anymore."

"Oh, Jason. Surely that isn't true." Alfred said softly. "You love being Robin. Robin gives you magic, remember?"

"Robin," he said bitterly. "Gives me sore muscles and lectures from Bruce. Nothing magic about that."

Jason stood abruptly and ran from the room, eyes bright with unshed tears. Alfred sighed and let him go. He would check on Jason later, once he'd had time to calm down. If nothing else, he could lure him down later with the reminder of the promised hot chocolate and mug cookies. For now, there was yet more work to be done. It seemed there always was.

Alfred took their dishes to the sink, gave them a quick rinse, and left them for later. He grabbed the kitchen phone, hesitated, and set it back on the cradle. He disliked making calls from his cell phone, but in this case, Dick was more likely to pick up. He dialed the number and waited out the bouncy instrumental that played back at him. Dick didn't answer and rather than leave a message, Alfred hung up and deliberately typed out a text.

_ Master Dick, please contact me at your earliest convenience. It's about Master Jason. _

He'd hardly pressed the send button when his answer arrived.

_ whats wrong w/ jay?? _

He was halfway through typing his reply when his phone rang. Alfred rolled his eyes and answered.

"Master Dick, so good of you to call."

"What's wrong with Jay? I can be there in an hour. Is he okay?"

"Calm yourself, sir. Jason is fine."

"Like,  _ fine _ , fine or just  _ fine _ ?"

"Master Dick, please."

"Sorry. Um. What’s this about, then?"

"I wanted to let you know. Master Jason has been grounded from his... hobby."

Dick snorted.

"What a surprise. Absolutely no one saw  _ that  _ coming. What's Bruce's excuse this time-- too tall to pull off the costume?"

"He failed to secure his line and almost fell to his death," Alfred said sharply.

He could hear the stutter in Dick's breath.

"Master Bruce caught him, but it was a near thing. He's been grounded until he retrains with the equipment. Given your talents and concerns, I thought you might be willing to assist."

"...I don't think that's a good idea."

"And whyever not?"

"It's not that I don't want to help, but-" Static as he shifted the phone to another ear. "Bruce isn't gonna let him out of the cave, right?"

"It is unlikely." Alfred agreed.

"Alfred, if I have to spend a single second in the cave, even without Bruce, I think I might explode." Dick said seriously. "I can't even think about him without getting so mad I want to scream. If I could take Jason to train with the Titans, or if he could visit me here, it might be different. But me getting so mad I can't see straight isn't going to help. I can see that now."

"If you'd only accept Master Bruce's apology, I'm sure--"

"Alfred. Don't. I can not handle talking about him right now. Unless Jay wants to move in with me, I don't see any way that my getting involved works out. And since he said no the last time I asked him, that's that."

"But Master Dick, surely--"

"I'm done talking about this Alfred. Let me know how it turns out."

He hung up.

Alfred closed his eyes and breathed a ten-count. He put the phone back in his pocket and made a cup of tea, comforting himself with the knowledge that no path to healing was easy. Things were already better than they had been Before. Jason was still with them. Bruce, though quick to anger and prone to worry, was hardly the violent shell of a man he had been. And Dick had come home, no matter how brief his visit. He had made the right decision. These were only holdovers, pale shadows of the time Before that would fade soon enough. Dick's early move to Bludhaven could only prove that.

He took his tea down to the cave and settled by the Batcomputer. A little city-watching could serve to settle his nerves. If memory served, June had been a quiet month. No confrontations with any of the major Rogues, only endless petty crimes. And with Bruce tucked away in the Diamond District surveilling Penguin, it was unlikely he'd be getting into any scrapes.

He'd almost finished his cup of tea when his pager and the computer buzzed. He sat the cup down hurriedly and thumbed off his pager, reading the alert from the monitor instead. A call from the Watchtower.

Alfred grabbed a domino he kept in a desk drawer for just this purpose and answered the call. A man in a golden helmet sprang to life on the monitors. Doctor Fate, if he wasn't mistaken.

"I must speak with Batman. It is urgent."

Alfred inclined his head.

"A moment, sir."

He muted the line and buzzed Bruce's comms. He answered within seconds.

"Go ahead, Agent A."

"Doctor Fate for you, sir. He says it's urgent."

"Patch him through."

Alfred did so.

"Batman."

Though Alfred couldn't see his face, something of Doctor Fate's posture suggested he was displeased with the situation.

"You speak from the shadows. Come into the light."

"That's not possible at the moment, Fate. You said it was urgent."

"And so it is. There is a great imbalance. The scale tips toward Chaos and I've traced the origin to your area."

"To Gotham?"

"No. Unfortunately, I have only been able to narrow the field to what you call the Northeastern United States."

"And what exactly am I supposed to be looking for?"

"This imbalance stinks of the Chaos Lords. Such is their nature that I can no more warn you what is about to happen than I could betray my Order. I can only say to beware; Klarion and his ilk are afoot."

Alfred stiffened.

"Copy that, Doctor Fate. I'll keep a sharp eye. If I run across anything, you'll be the first to know."

Doctor Fate cut the feed and Alfred held his breath.

"Agent A, make a note in the Batcomputer. I'll look into this further when I return."

"Of course." Alfred said, careful to keep his tone even.

"Strange. Usually it's easy for Doctor Fate to track down Klarion's movements. He's hardly subtle. But I haven't heard of anything that smacks of his involvement. Have you?"

He swallowed the last of his tea in one gulp, hands trembling as he held the cup.

"No, sir. I haven't heard a thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please watch the tags and strap in, folks. Next chapter you’re in for a bumpy ride.


End file.
